The Definition Of Peace
by Wren Gebel
Summary: (ORIGINALLY POSTED ON MY OTHER ACCOUNT. SEE INSIDE FOR DETAILS) Trapped in the Malfoy Manor and brutally tortured, Draco and Hermione must desperately try to escape while trying to stay alive, sane, and together. They soon find that their every action has a consequence which could save or destroy them. UA. Dramione. Rated M for language and graphic scenes. Details inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Prelude**

* * *

This piece was originally posted on my other account "Byzanthamum" where it was put on hiatus. The story is still available over there as well, but I wanted to move it here so that all my work is together. This is still on hiatus and I'm not sure if I'm going to finish, but I still welcome reviews and favourites. I am still working on "Our Lives Passed" which is why this one might get set aside unless it suddenly becomes really popular and people are begging for more. Anyway. Please enjoy the chapters that are here (there are 9 which I will be editing and posting hopefully shortly) (Update: all written chapters are up now).

 _Full Summary:_

 _Trapped in the Malfoy Manor and brutally tortured, Draco and Hermione must desperately try to escape while trying to stay alive, sane, and together. They soon find that their every action has a consequence which could save or destroy them. Set in an altered_ Harry Potter _universe during the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione are Horcrux hunting and a few months before the Battle at Hogwarts. Dramione. AU. Rated M. Updated every Sunday._

 **Disclaimers Please Read!**

 **I do not own the characters in this story. All credit for the** _ **Harry Potter**_ **plot line and the** _ **Harry Potter**_ **characters goes to J.K. Rowling. I am not being paid to write this story. I am doing it for your and my own enjoyment. I do, however, own the plot of this particular fanfiction and would greatly appreciate if it were not stolen or copied as I've worked very hard on it. If you notice someone has stolen this story please let me know right away. If you would like to translate this story please message me for permission first. I normally agree, but I'd like to know it is being done. More information is on my profile.**

 **Warnings. PLEASE READ!**

 **This story is rated M for a reason. Scenes of torture, uncomfortable settings, and some vulgar language is present. Though I don't think it is too bad, I may just be twisted and therefore don't realize it which is why I'm being sure to warn you now. If you think you will be uncomfortable with these things please stop reading now. If you continue reading despite your un-comfortableness please do not flame me for it. I have warned you, twice now, of torture and some vulgar language in this story. It is now fully your fault if you keep reading. Not mine.**

 **Information. Please read!**

 **This story will be updated every Sunday unless announced differently. I have taken quite a bit of time to think of this story, plot it out, and write it for your enjoyment. I'm not claiming that it will be excellent, but since I've worked hard on it, I'd appreciate it if you gave constructive (if any)criticism instead of just criticising. Saying things like 'I could write better than this' or 'this sucks' tells me nothing other than that you aren't enjoying it.**

 **Sorry about the rambling, but I feel like most of this needed to be said, especially the warnings. Thank you for taking the time to read the above and the rest of the story for that matter. I greatly appreciate your feedback. Please do not hesitate to ask questions or voice concerns. My PM box is always open if necessary.**

 **So, without further ado:**

 **The Definition of Peace**

Prelude

The definition of war is the state of armed conflict between two nations. But to those who fight in war it is something else. It is the constant questioning, "when will this end?". It is pain and fear and brutal reality and nothing but hope.

This story begins six months before a war. It could begin any time. Seven years ago. Two months. One week from now. But the day Hermione leaves is the day Draco will never forget and the day that started something new. A perfect spot to start an imperfect and tragic tale of the horrors and consequences of war.

This story will also end six months after a war. Six months after tragedy and pain and death, the chapters will end, the words will cease, and the story will come to a close.

But the ending will come later. For now, this story begins in the Forbidden Forest, shortly outside of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where Hermione Granger waits for Draco Malfoy with a heavy heart. Her head spins and her heart aches from the many thoughts thundering through her mind. She thinks of Ron who must feel so confused and frightened. She thinks of Harry who must be broken at Dumbledore's death and stricken by the false Horcrux. She thinks of all three of them; her, Ron, and Harry, and what the looming darkness means, what they must do. And she thinks of Draco. Oh, she thinks of Draco and her heart breaks because she must force him to choose. And she is frightened by what he might pick, scared to death by what he might decide.

Her fingers are sore from biting and her eyes sting.

She is waiting in the clearing. _Their_ clearing. The clearing with the soft grass and the green lights, where the wind hums through the trees and the plants applaud. She presses down the grass with her shoes. Eventually she becomes frustrated and kicks at the roots. The fresh earth is loose and flies easily into the air.

After what seems like hours, he comes. He stands far away from her like he's afraid to get too close and from his grim expression Hermione can tell he knows why he's here.

She doesn't move toward him, but instead stands facing him with all her words stuck in her throat.

"You know I can't," he says and she clenches her jaw as hard as she can, but it doesn't stop the tears.

"You can," she tells him, but he shakes his head.

"I can't leave my family, Hermione. I can't leave them to die."

Her lip trembles. "I'm leaving my parents."

"Your parents are muggles," he argues. "The Dark Lord doesn't know of them. He knows mine. And if I don't show up he'll kill them."

Her arms shake despite the warm evening. "Please," she begs. "I love you."

And he is suddenly in front of her, holding her tightly to his chest and she has fist-fulls of his shirt between her fingers. Heaving, she cries into his shoulder.

"I know," he says, and he doesn't say any more because he doesn't have to. She already knows.

And it's not for months later that they will see each other again, but not exactly in the way they hope.

 **TBC next Sunday...**


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

Hermione stands facing her window. It's dark outside, but the street lamps cast golden light on the black pavement like yellow curtains. The clock in her room ticks quietly and rhythmically behind her in a constant reminder of the time slipping quickly away from her.

She turns around to face her barren room. Regretfully, she's been here all day, packing her things and going over every bit of the room to make sure there remains no signs of her existence. The lilac tinted walls are barren of any personal pictures or sentiments, the bed is fastened neatly with crisp plain sheets, the knick-knacks on the dresser hold no memory, the closet is empty save extra blankets, the whole room will soon come to forget Hermione Jean Granger ever existed.

A voice drifts up the stairs to her door. "Hermione! Dinner!" It's her mother, calling her to the last meal they'll have together.

Hermione presses her lips together for a moment and swallows hard. "Coming, Mum!" she yells back.

She moves to the bed where the last piece of her lays in the form of an enchanted beaded bag. It feels like a thousand tons in her hand as she slings it over her head. She walks to the door, her feet like lead, and rightens herself, plastering on an artificial smile before turning the handle and moving down the stairs to the dining room.

Her father is seated at the right end of the table, glasses on the tip of his nose, staring down them at the paper in his hands. She looks at him as she takes her seat, noticing for the first time the grey hairs highlighting his dark hair and the soft wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. Her eyes burn. When had he gotten old? Though his birthdays would pass, she never imagined him to grow a day older.

Her mother comes in from the kitchen, setting the freshly tossed salad on the table. Hermione notices her hands which are wrinkled and embossed with veins and closes her eyes for a moment to keep herself calm.

They each fill their plates and eat. Hermione forces herself to act normally. Her father thumbs through the news. Her mother picks at her food. Their utensils clank noisily against the plates.

"Anything interesting in the news?" her mother asks her father.

He scans the page. "Oh, here's something. A man was found dead in his home, but the police can't seem to find his cause of death."

Her mother hums in slight interest and they go quiet again. Hermione tries to think of something to say without sounding like she's about to cry.

"This is really good, Mum," she says.

"Thank you. It's a new recipe."

"Yes, it's very good," her father agrees, his mouth full of food.

Hermione looks down at her plate. It is good, but her stomach clenches and she doesn't feel like eating anything.

When the last piece of food is gone from their plates, Hermione offers to clear the table and bring out the dessert. Her mother smiles at her thankfully as she takes her plate and goes to the kitchen.

The plates clatter into the sink loudly, making her wince. She digs her fingers into the counter, feeling light-headed and dizzy.

There is fruit salad for dessert and she goes to the refrigerator to get it, spooning some into three separate bowls. She reaches into her bag, summoning out the potion with her wand. She holds up the little glass flask in front of her, sighing. This is it. The cork comes off with a pop and she divides it evenly between two of the bowls. The clear liquid pours in like water and disappears when she stirs it as if it isn't there at all.

She balances the bowls in her hands and takes a deep breath before going back to the dining room.

"Thank you," her parents say as she sets the fruit salad down in front of them.

She watches them pick up their spoons and eat, oblivious to the serum inside.

When they are done, the bowls empty, Hermione can tell the potion is starting to work. Her father yawns and her mother's eyelids are heavy.

"Do you feel all right, Mum?" Hermione asks her.

She nods, yawning hugely which she tries to stifle with her hand. "Yes, I feel fine. I'm just... so tired suddenly. I think I'm going to go lie down."

She stands up, her father does the same, stretching. "You know, I think I'll turn in too. Hermione, would you mind clearing the table?"

"Sure. I love you!" she calls after them as they leave the room.

"I love you too, darling."

Her eyes pool over and she's finally able to cry now that she's alone. She's done it. When Mr. and Mrs. Granger wake tomorrow they won't remember one bit of the evening before. They'll feel a little funny, like they maybe had one too many drinks the night before, but they'll brush it off and eat breakfast, take a shower, read a book, do some cleaning. And they won't remember that the bedroom upstairs wasn't always a guest bedroom, or that the crack in Mrs. Granger's favourite teacup isn't there because she knocked it over one drowsy morning, or that the funny, empty feeling they suddenly both have isn't really a yearning to travel.

No. They won't remember one bit of their first and only child: Hermione Jean Granger.

* * *

The Weasleys know she's coming and have a place made up for her to sleep in Ginny's room. It's late when she apparates outside the wards of the burrow. The sky is inky and speckled with stars. The night is cool and moist. And the burrow looks like a crooked bolder, erecting from the ground and dotted with warm yellow windows that let escape the aroma of Mrs. Weasley's baking into the night air.

Her knuckles barely rap the door before it's open and she's thrown into the warm arms of Mrs. Weasley.

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," she manages, smiling softly when the hug is broken.

"Oh, it's so good to see you, dear!" Mrs. Weasley says, stepping aside to let her into the home.

"Hey, Hermione." Ron is standing a little to the side with his hands in his pocket.

"Ron!" she gasps and throws her arms around him, surprising him enough that he can't get his hands out of his pocket before she's pulling away. "Is Harry here?" She looks around, but the only other person is Ginny who's watching them from beside her mother.

"No. The Order is planning something to get him here. He still has The Trace, you know, and apparently You-Know-Who is waiting for him to make a move. I don't know. Something like that. We've sort'a been waiting for you. We need all the people we can get."

"When can we talk with The Order then?

"There'll be a meeting tomorrow," Mrs. Weasley interjects shortly. "For now, it's late and I think you should get to bed. I'm sure it's been a long day for all of us."

Hermione doesn't argue. She's not sure if Mrs. Weasley knows about her parents, she hadn't even told Ron or Harry, but she doesn't feel like talking about it now. Ginny leads her up to the room they'll be sharing and Hermione falls asleep only after what feels like hours of staring at the ceiling with puddled eyes.

* * *

It feels like the sun is barely up when Hermione wakes. Ginny is snoring softly in her bed, but the room is lit from the window.

She goes to the bathroom and takes the longest shower she's ever had. The water turns cold before she finally decides to get out, and by that time she can smell breakfast being cooked downstairs.

After breakfast, Alastor Moody shows up, quickly followed by Kingsley Shacklebolt, , Remus Lupin, and Tonks.

Mrs. Weasley clears the table and the guests plus Ron, Arthur, and the twins find seats around it.

Moody starts right in. "As we all know, Potter will become of age the end of this week and The Trace will be lifted."

"So we move him after that?" Tonks asks.

"Before," Kingsley says. "Getting him out after is exactly what You-Know-Who expects us to do. With The Trace lifted they have no way of tracking him and it's the perfect time for us to move him. Which is why it has to happen before."

Moody clears his throat and scratches the long scars on his face. "It's not going to be perfect. Death Eaters have already been detected lurking around Privet Drive. What we are getting by leaving before the boy's birthday is the element of surprise. They will still know, they just won't be expecting it."

"So, when then?" Mr. Weasley asks.

"I've told the others the thirtieth."

"Others?" Hermione asks. She isn't sure just how many people they should trust with this.

"Bill, Fleur, Hagrid, and Mundungus," Moody tells her. "The Dursleys are also set to move that day so it works out."

"How?" Tonks asks. "How are we going to get Harry out with all the Death Eaters right there?"

Moody looks at the twins who are now grinning widely. "The Weasley boys here have come up with something that might work if we all agree. I'll let them tell."

Fred starts in, a look of triumph upon both their faces. "It's really simple."

"Credit actually goes to Ronny boy," George says, patting Ron on the head. "He gave us the idea when he was telling us about the adventures him and Harry had at Hogwarts."

"Heard you're quite the potions mistress, Hermione," Fred says, nodding at Hermione.

She blushes as it hits her. Second year. Pollyjuice Potion in the girls' restroom. Not exactly something she wants two Ministry officials and a former Professor to know about.

"We figure the Death Eaters will have a pretty tough time getting Harry when they don't know which of us is really him," says George.

"Just get on with it!" Ron exclaims.

"Getting there, brother," Fred sings.

"Here's the plan," says George, more serious now.

"We all go to Harry's on the thirtieth. Six of us will have a change of clothes. The same jacket, shirt, pants, the whole shebang."

"Moody will have a flask of a little something called Pollyjuice Potion that we'll pop a lock of Harry's hair in and share between those of us who have a change of clothes."

"There'll be seven identical Harrys."

"The Trace will show that Harry is moving, but the Death Eaters won't know which of us is the real one."

"It's perfect if we do say so ourselves."

Hermione rolls her eyes at their vanity. "You two realize that Harry will never agree to this?"

"Good call, Hermione," George says. "But Potter isn't going to be given a choice."

"Then how do you expect to get his hair?" Ron asks.

"An excellent question!" Fred muses. "George and I suggest we hold him down and shave the back of his head."

"Enough jokes," Moody snaps. His voice is just sharp enough to silence the twins and bring the attention back to him. "Granger, you'll be in charge of getting his hair. Make sure it's enough for all six people. Yank it off his head when he isn't expecting it if you have to."

Hermione's mouth opens to protest, but Moody cuts her off.

"We need six people to be Harry," he says.

"We volunteer," George says. He and Fred are both holding up their hands.

"Granger, Weasley, you too?" Kingsley asks Hermione and Ron.

"Sure," Ron says and Hermione nods curtly.

Her stomach is starting to feel upset the more she thinks about the plan. There most certainly will be an attack. She knows people will die on both sides, and looking around the table, she can't help but wonder which of them will be the firsts to go.

"We'll ask Fleur and Mundungus to be the other two then," Kingsley says.

Moody half laughs. "Fletcher doesn't have a choice."

"Where will we be going?" Lupin asks.

"I believe the Weasleys have invited us here?" Moody says looking expectantly at Mr. Weasley.

Arthur nods. "Yes. Bill and I have set up wards already, and, God willing, we have a wedding to host yet."

"Bill and Fleur," Ron whispers to Hermione. She nods.

"At least we have something to look forward to," Tonks says. Her hair is a hue halfway between blue and purple so that you can't quite tell which colour it is. Hermione feels like the colour of her hair. Confused. A whole string of emotions dance around in her chest. She almost feels like she can't take the changing feelings. She can't tell what she's supposed to feel like with so many different things happening at once.

* * *

That night she thinks about Draco. For the first time, it occurs to her that he might be there when they go to get Harry. She tries to imagine what she'll do if he is. She wants to think that he'll take one look at her, deep in the eyes, and not be able to stand it any more. She wants to think that if he's there he'll be able to escape with them back to the burrow. She wants to think that. But she knows it isn't probable so she hopes he isn't there at all.

She rolls over, unable to sleep. So many thoughts crossing her mind. The plan plays constantly through her head and she can only imagine all the things that could go horribly wrong. Harry could die. _She_ could die.

" _Hermione?"_ Ginny whispers. Hermione thought she'd been asleep.

"Yes?"

"Are you scared?"

"Yes." She pauses for a moment, expecting Ginny to say something else. She doesn't. "Are you?"

"Yes." She's quiet again. Hermione thinks she's fallen asleep when she speaks, "I'm afraid I won't be able to help."

Hermione isn't sure what to say to that. She'd expected Ginny would be fearful of one of her family dying, or of the war.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to do anything. Mum won't let me help move Harry, Ron won't let me come with you when you go on whatever mission Dumbledore's sent Harry on. I feel powerless. I'm terrified I won't be able to do anything to help."

"Oh, Gin, you've helped so much already!" Ginny snorts in obvious disbelief. "And you can help more," Hermione quickly says. "At Hogwarts. Think of all the younger kids who don't know what's going on. They need someone to protect them."

Ginny doesn't say anything.

Hermione rolls over again, now thinking about Dumbledore's mission. Find the Horcruxes. She has no idea how they're supposed to do that. Where do they even start?

She realizes Ginny has a point. She's afraid she won't be able to help either. She's afraid that what they do won't make a difference. That it won't matter.

"I'm just afraid it won't be enough," Ginny suddenly says.

"I know, Gin." And she does.

 **TBC next Sunday...**

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you for reading, following, favouriting, and reviewing! Quick little note about the first two chapters: This chapter and the next jump around a bit just so you can get a feel of what is going on before the meat of the story really comes in. They aren't my favourite, but they're necessary to get the ball rolling.**

 **Tune in next Sunday for Chapter Two!**


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

 _The sun reflected brightly off the snow covered lake. Draco had to squint to see because it was so bright. He leaned his head back against the tree he was under and watched the growing form that was Hermione Granger coming toward him._

 _He had to physically stop himself from smirking when she was close enough for him to see her red cheeks and eyes full of annoyance. Before she was too close, he looked away, back to the lake and waited for her to start the rant he knew was coming._

 _"Draco Malfoy," she said shortly._

 _"Good afternoon, Granger," he said without looking at her. He could feel the anger radiating off her like electricity in the air._

 _"I want it back, Malfoy." She crossed her arms and stared angrily down at him._

 _Draco sighed, trying to hide his grin. "Want what back, Granger?" He knew exactly what she wanted. He could feel it pressed against his leg from inside his bag._

 _"Do not play stupid. You know exactly what I'm talking about."_

 _He finally turned his face to look at her, squinting against the sun. He tried to give her his best I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about face, but he saw the redness of her face from the cold and it made her look like she was blushing—maybe she was—and for some reason it threw him off._

 _"Haven't the foggiest, Granger. So if you don't mind, I'm trying to think in quiet." He turned back to stare at the frozen water._

 _It was true, he had been trying to think, but now he couldn't remember what about._

 _"Malfoy!" Hermione said, flinging her arms out in disbelief. "I can't believe this! I was nice enough to let you barrow it! I at least expected you to return it!"_

 _He turned to look at her again, startled by the sudden volume of her voice. He noticed how big her hair had gotten, like a cat's when it's startled, and her eyes were wide and wild. He was fighting hard to keep a straight face. The more he could irritate Granger the better. He loved to see her like this._

 _"Please!" she begged. "I want it back before break!"_

 _He sighed. She wasn't furious anymore which meant the fun was over. He reached into his bag and pulled out the book he'd ask to barrow from her two weeks ago. He had wanted to read it for a long time, but the library never had it. Then once, in Potions, he'd noticed her reading it. Not that he had been watching her. He hadn't. The title on the cover was plenty big for him to notice just by glancing at it across the room._

 _Her face lit up when he handed it over._

 _"Thank you," she said curtly and started to walk away._

 _Draco looked back to the lake until he heard the crunch of her returning footsteps._

 _"Actually," she said. "I want to ask you something."_

 _He raised his brow and looked over at her. She had the book clutched tightly to her chest._

 _"Since no one else has read this book," she said. "I want to know what you think of how Mongrove handled the seventh prophecy."_

 _For a moment, Draco didn't know what to say. "Rashly," he settled on._

 _She furrowed her brow and pursed her lips like she was waiting for him to say more._

 _He wracked his brain for more to say. "I think he should have thought about it more, but that he did what he thought was best in the time he had."_

 _Then she said something that Draco had never heard Hermione Granger say to him, nor did he ever expect to hear from her. She said, "I agree."_

* * *

Draco heard once before that when you miss something so much you dream about it.

The dream he just had was what he thinks of as the moment something first happened between him and her. It's not one of the memories he thinks about very often, in fact, he's tried not to think much about her at all lately, but, for some reason, his mind decided to dream about her tonight.

His chest starts to feel tight and heavy and he's reminded why he has avoided thinking of her.

He rolls over and takes his wand from the nightstand next to his bed, using the _Lumos_ spell to check the time on his wristwatch. 1:57. A puff of air escapes his lips and he puts a hand to his forehead. In nearly five hours time he'll be expected up. That is if the Dark Lord doesn't decide to visit before then.

Draco remembers two nights ago when He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named arrived at three o'clock in the morning, demanding hospitality. Damn his father for practically making the manor the Dark Lord's headquarters.

Draco hates feeling afraid. When he does he gets shaky and his throat goes tight and his muscles feel like concrete. When he's afraid he feels powerless over his own body. And he hates that. But he's been feeling afraid a lot lately. He used to be able to feel safe in his own home, but now feeling afraid there has become normal to him.

Draco gets up. He can't fall asleep now that he's thinking about her. Where she is, what she's doing, if anything's happened to her. Twice, while he's changing into day clothes, he thinks about owling her, but shoots it down. It's too dangerous. Someone could intercept the owl, the wrong people could find out about them, or she could not write back at all.

He opens his door and walks into the dark hallway. There is an Elf down the hall dusting off the pictures on the walls. He ignores the Elf as usual and walks down to the main level.

The sitting room is a bit brighter; the embers in the fireplace make the room glow. He notices that the hardwood floor reflects the light easily which means it's just been waxed. He snorts, wondering which prisoner they made wash the floor as he goes to the desk drawer and pulls out the flask of something strong and expensive his father likes to drink. He isn't sure what it is. He just knows it burns on the way down and helps him feel numb to everything happening around him.

He sits with the flask in his hand in front of the dying embers and stares at the orange glow. Granger once told him that many muggles don't have fireplaces in their homes. That they use other things for heat and light.

He used to laugh at muggles and what a hard life they must live without magic, but right then he thinks it might be easier to be a muggle. He thinks it might be easier to change things called 'light bulbs' all the time and make your food by hand than live the way he is now. But he thinks it might be a lot easier if Granger were here.

He shakes his head and takes a large swig of the drink. "Drown it out," he whispers to himself. But she won't get out of his mind and recently it's started making him think crazy things. Like, what if he just left? Forgot about his parents and the Dark Lord and just took off? He could live like a muggle until the whole thing blows over.

He takes a larger swallow.

A loud wailing noise makes him drop the bottle.

"Shit," he says, but he can't hear his own voice over the ringing.

He leaves the room, not bothering to pick up the mess, and hurries to the front entrance. His aunt Bellatrix and two Death Eaters that follow her around like puppies barrel through the front door.

"Turn off this damn alarm!" Bellatrix shrieks.

Before Draco can reach for his wand, the alarm is silenced.

Lucius steps forward, fully clothed and pristine.

"To what do we owe the pleasure, Bellatrix?" he asks. There is malice in his voice, but also relief.

Draco can understand why. No one likes unexpected guests in their home at three o'clock in the morning, but it isn't the Dark Lord. Though, Draco thinks Bellatrix isn't much better.

"Oh, hello, Lucius," Bellatrix says as though she's just noticing him. "Nothing too serious. We just need to barrow Draco." She walks to where Draco is standing and smiles sickeningly at him. In her heals she's about his height, making her that much more intimidating.

"What for?" Lucius asks her.

"The Dark Lord requested him! That's all that should matter!" she spits. Then her face softens and her hand comes up to pinch Draco's cheek. He swallows hard, trying show indifference. "After all," she continues. "You should be flattered that the Dark Lord wants to use your son after his fuck-up last year." She's looking right at Draco, but talking about him like he's not there.

He clenches his jaw, remember just how the Dark Lord had punished him and his father. He'd vowed that the next time Draco messed up he wouldn't be so lucky to come out with only a dozen _crucios_ and a broken rib.

Bellatrix doesn't wait for his father to respond. "Are you ready to go, Draco?" she asks, addressing him for the first time.

He glances at his father who's watching Bellatrix with a blank face.

"Yes," he says.

Bellatrix slaps his cheek just enough for it to sting. "Good boy," she says. "Then we'll be off," she turned around to tell Lucius.

Hand still on his cheek, Bellatrix jerks and Draco feels the pull of apparition as she whirls him away from his home.

The colours swirl around them until they suddenly stop in what appears to be a dark and abandoned home. Thick black curtains are drawn across the windows so that the only light is the feint glow from candles floating around a long wooden table.

Draco shivers. The air is surprisingly crisp. But it might also have to do with the dozen or so Snatchers seated at the table.

"Hello, Draco."

So that's where the chill is coming from, Draco thinks.

At the end of the table, Lord Voldemort is seated. He's got the night on his shoulders, threaded into a long cloak, and his pale face acts as a moon over it all.

"My Lord." Draco bows respectfully like he was taught to do. His fingers tremble and fumble with the fabric of his trousers.

When he dares to look back at Voldemort the snake-like man is smiling, smirking almost, in a way Draco couldn't even imagine himself doing several years ago.

"Take a seat." Voldemort extends a knobby hand, gesturing to a seat on the right side of the table.

He nods quickly and hurries to sit down in the dusty, straight-backed chair.

"Fenrir Greyback has informed me that there has been magic detected in the wood," Voldemort says, addressing the group. "It is also believed that this magic might belong to Harry Potter or someone who knows of his whereabouts. So. Everyone who brings me someone useful won't be killed. The more the better." He turns his head slightly to look right at Draco. "Some of you need brownie points."

Draco swallows hard and looks down at the grain of the table. His leg is bouncing violently.

"Go!" Voldemort commands.

The chairs scrape against the floor as all the Snatchers get up at once.

Draco stands up, too, not wanting to be left alone with You-Know-Who. Following the rest out the door, he can see that the house they are in is set deep in a wood. The sun is barely up, making every tree a silhouette.

As they get outside, the Snatchers fan out in pairs of two or three, their wands are out and held in front of them as if they are being pulled by them. Draco also takes out his wand, but he isn't sure what to do with it so he holds it close to his chest and grips the handle tightly.

He goes to the left by himself, picking his way through the unruly vegetation. He has no idea what he's looking for. Surly no one would be right out in the open. They'd have some sort of protection charm up, but Draco knows from the protection charms around his home, that if you do it right, they're nearly undetectable. Maybe a slight buzz or a shimmer in the air, impossible to see in this light.

" _Lumos,"_ he whispers and the tip of his wand lights up, throwing light across the trees, making their shadows long.

He holds the wand high above his head and walks for what he feels like forever. The woods makes eerie noises and the shadows play tricks on his eyes. Once, he caught sight of a tree that looked much too alike a person, and he nearly dropped his wand. He was extremely thankful when the sun finally rose high enough that he didn't need his wand to see any more.

Soon, he feels like he must be almost to the edge of the wood he walked so far and feels so tired, but there are always more trees and thorns and bushes.

He wonders if his father had told his mother about what happened earlier this morning. He wonders if she's worried for him or just as indifferent as his father seemed. He thinks about what he'll do if he finds anyone to capture. Will he have the guts or the strength to take them? What if it's Granger? He knows right now that he wouldn't be able to touch her.

And now his mind is back on her just like he tried to avoid.

It's been forever, but he remembers everything about her. Her hair as swirly as the night sky and her lips like little pink petals and the way she smells like vanilla and strawberries and, when he kisses her hands, he can smell ink and paper and something else he'd never been able to place that is just purely _Granger_ , and soon he's aching for her again. He breathes deeply and it's like he can smell her right now.

He stops walking.

He _can_ smell her right now. She's right here.

He turns. There is nothing but trees and foliage around him. Then he feels it. A tingle in the air like how the wind feels after lightning strikes. He steps toward it, smelling her more strongly.

He squints in front of him, trying to see if she's really there.

"Hermione?"

Silence.

He holds his breath and suddenly, he can start to hear her breathe.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry about the short delay on this one. Normally I will have them up about nine hours earlier.**

 **Please continue to review, follow, and favourite. It means a lot. Thanks to everyone who already has, keep it up!**


	4. Chapter Three

_He squints in front of him, trying to see if she's really there._

 _"Hermione?"_

 _Silence._

 _He holds his breath and suddenly, he can start to hear her breathe._

* * *

Chapter Three

One day, on the cusp of spring, when the air is still crisp, but with undertones of summer, Hermione sits outside their camp site. She flips back and forth through her copy of _Tales of Beedle the Bard,_ translating what she can from ancient runes. Harry and Ron are in the tent behind her, probably sleeping or listening to the radio for names they recognize.

It's been around four weeks since the locket was destroyed and a certain weight had been lifted from all their shoulders the night it had. The air seems light and they all take advantage of what little breather they can get.

The sword of Gryffindor leans against a nearby tree where Hermione can look up frequently and puzzle over it. She thinks she has it figured out how it could be used to destroy the Horcrux, but that doesn't stop her from questioning it further when she has the time. Plus, it relaxes her. The book and the sword both do. She imagines she's in class at Hogwarts, reading for an assignment or looking up the answer in a book, but when her attention is brought back to the present it only makes her heart ache that much more.

There is a crunch in the woods and she looks up, weary that the protective charm she put up won't work. She sees nothing and so continues to pour over to book.

Standing up, she sighs, closing the book and ducking under the tent. It's about mid day and her stomach is growling. Food is scarce, but none of them have eaten all day.

True to what she thought, Harry and Ron are laying on their cots, listening to the radio with blank expressions. A voice drones a list of names and her heart cracks a little when she hears ones she think she might recognize. She reaches for her bag, and summons out slices of meat and bread.

"I'm going to make a sandwich," she tells the boys. "Do either of you want one?"

Ron regards her and rolls out of bed, following her to the table were she sets out the sliced ham and bread. He takes two slices of meat and bread, stuffing them quickly together and just as quickly in his mouth.

"Harry?" Hermione looks at Harry who hasn't moved from his cot.

His head lolls to the side. "Sorry," he murmurs. "I was thinking."

"I said there are sandwiches if you want one."

Ron takes another two slices of bread, fitting a piece of meat between them.

"Not hungry," Harry says, staring back at the fabric above them.

"What's wrong?" Ron asks with bread tucked in his cheek.

"I don't know where to look next." He props himself on his elbow, looking at them again. "We destroyed the locket, but what now? What's the next Horcrux? _Where's_ the next Horcrux? We have no leads. Where do we even begin?"

"All we can do is look right now," Hermione says. "I've been thinking of places You-Know-Who would keep Horcruxes. There's the orphanage he grew up in and the Riddle house. And Hogwarts," she adds reluctantly.

"Those are good thoughts, Hermione, but we still don't know what we're looking for."

She sighs and nibbles at her bread. "I've been looking at Dumbledore's notes in _Beedle the Bard,_ but so far I haven't found any hidden messages or clues. I'll keep looking though."

"How about we stay here a couple more days?" Ron suggests. "You can look in your books, Hermione, and, Harry, you and I can think of other places and things it might be. Then we'll decide where to look after that."

Harry's arms collapse underneath him and his head falls back on the pillow. "Fine."

"It sounds good, Ron," Hermione tells him encouragingly. She stuffs the rest of her sandwich in her mouth and leaves the tent again. She thinks she'll re-enforce the charms around their site and hope the walking will help her think.

As she leaves the tent, she pulls her wand from her pocket and walks until she can feel the boundary like faint static in the air. Her hair is pulled toward it, clinging to her face which she irritably brushes aside.

Something flashes out of the corner of her eye, making her stop. Someone is walking through the woods, metres from their site. Frozen, she watches the black figure pass in and out of trees. Their wand is drawn and a dark cloak billows behind them. A Death Eater. But how? They've covered their tracks and she is sure this spot isn't close to any Death Eater headquarters. An ice cube travels down her spine. Unless their headquarters is undetectable like their camp site.

Suddenly someone walks directly in front of her. Someone she recognizes. It's Draco. He is walking with his wand out, looking through the air in front of him with narrow eyes.

She's so startled to see him that she almost calls out to him. She comes so close to running past the boundaries and flinging herself on him. She has to physically stop herself by whitening her knuckles around her wand and breathing deeply. She can smell him and it makes her eyes itch. Abruptly, he stops walking, facing the sky, then turning in circles until he faces her directly and she swears his pale grey eyes are looking right into hers. She hasn't seen him in months and suddenly here he is, right in front of her, but miles away.

"Granger?" he barely whispers, taking her back. "Is that you?" His eyes search the air before him, all around her face. "I miss you," he mumbles and she has to swallow rocks to keep a sob from escaping her throat. "Listen to me," he says. "You need to leave. You have to get out of here. The Snatchers know you're here. They sent us out to scourer the area. These woods are going to be flooded with people looking for you. You need to leave now." He stops, looking at the spot where he thinks she is and sighs heavily. "Do not get caught, Hermione. Do you hear me? Do not get caught."

Swallowing, she nods even though he can't see her. His eyes drop and he turns, walking on blankly. She waits for him to disappear behind a tree and then dashes back to the tent, grabbing the sword from against the tree on her way in.

"Get up!" she tells Harry and Ron.

"What's wrong?" Ron asks.

She darts around, gathering their things and stuffing them in her back. "Death Eaters. Snatchers. Everywhere. We have to go now!"

They freeze as they hear a voice outside close by.

"I'm picking up something!" someone is saying. "There's been magic here recently."

"Where?"

"Right around here."

There is silence. Hermione looks at Harry who has frozen at the end of his bed. She raises her wand to put up a _Muffliato_ charm, but he springs up, pulling down her arm.

She looks at him questioningly. He taps on her wand and then points to where the voices had come from. She nods, realizing she'd completely give them away if they detected her magic.

Ron quietly tightens the laces on his shoes and starts to gather up his radio and wand. Harry and Hermione mimic him, continuing to pack up their things as quietly as church mice.

"Anything?" one of the voices speaks again.

"No. Let's go."

"Wait." It becomes quiet for a moment and Harry, Ron, and Hermione listen tentatively. "I feel something."

"Like what?"

"Like static. There's a protection charm up around here."

Hermione's eyes widen. She strings her bag across her body and fits quietly through the tent flaps. There are two Snatchers outside. Both are gruff and hard looking with very hairy faces and broad shoulders. Their wild eyes scan around the area. She watches them for a moment until Ron bumps her from behind. She brings a finger to her lips and points at the men standing only metres away. He nods and stands beside her while Harry tiptoes out. She points her wand at the tent and takes Ron's hand. Harry takes out his wand too, getting ready to disapparate them away as soon as Hermione has collapsed the tent. He nods at her and grabs Ron's backpack.

She flicks her wand and the ten folds in on itself until it's a tiny box on the earthen floor.

"I'm getting something," one of the Snatchers says, looking at his wand which is glowing a bright blue. "There's definitely someone here. Should we call Greyback?"

"No. Get them first, then call him."

Hermione darts forward, snatching the cube from the ground. Linking her fingers back with Ron's she nods at Harry and they take off in a spinning ball of colour and light. She becomes dizzy, feeling her skin stretch over her teeth that rattle in her scull as they spin wildly.

Their feet slam on a carpeted floor. Hermione staggers for a moment, then, regaining herself, takes in where they are. It's a house. From the looks of it, a deserted one. The walls are bare except for shadows where pictures once hung, the floor has no furniture only the imprints where chairs and couches used to sit, the curtains are drawn so it's dark, and dust hangs in the air where it had been disturbed from the carpet. Still, Hermione thinks she recognizes the place.

"Harry?" she asks him. "Where are we?"

He's looking at the walls and the doors and the stairs like he's reading them and doesn't turn when he answers her. "This is my aunt, uncle, and cousin's old house." he says. "It's my old house."

"Harry, we can't be here!" Hermione tells him. "The Order wanted everyone out of here for a reason!"

"I'm sorry!" he says and flinches at how loud it came out. "It's the first place I thought of."

Hermione watches him look around the room and touch the doorknobs, and she realizes this is the place he'd called home for elven years and even after Hogwarts, this was still the place he always came back to.

"We'll stay for one night," she says. "But we sleep in shifts like normal and I want someone always watching the windows."

Ron nods and sets down his bag. Hermione reaches in her bag for sleeping bags and Harry wanders to the cupboard under the stairs. They all know there are enough rooms in the house, but Hermione doesn't think sleeping apart from each other would feel right, or safe.

When night comes, Hermione finds herself unable to sleep. She has an uncomfortable feeling and she can't stop thinking about Draco and what he said.

 _The Snatchers know you're here._

How could they know? What trace did the Snatchers have on them? They'd been so careful. Hermione tosses and turns with these thoughts. She is acutely aware of Ron's footsteps as he moves from the living room windows to the ones in the kitchen.

"Ron," she whispers. He turns around the face her. His eyes are tired and weak. "I'll keep watch now."

She climbs out of her sleeping bag and puts on her shoes as Ron climbs into his.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

She nods. "I can't sleep anyway. I might as well do something."

Every bone in her body aches with fatigue, but her brain refuses to rest. She leans her forehead against the window in the living room, squinting at the street lights uniformly standing strait-backed down the street. There is a cat stalking through the yard, but other than that, no movement whatsoever. She shuffles through the living room to the kitchen and hoists herself on the counter so she can sit while peering through the window. The yard is black, but nothing seems out of place.

A light, fuzzy feeling comes over her as she stares into the pitch. It's like staring into a black hole. And it's sucking on her, pulling her in. Before, she knows it, she's leaning toward the hole, loving the floating feeling it gives her. Then she's in it.

Hermione jerks awake. She's still on the counter, but it's a bit lighter out. Had she really fallen asleep? She couldn't believe herself. What if something had happened? She felt so stupid! Looking into the living room she could see that Harry and Ron were still asleep. Her neck is stiff from lolling to the side and she works the kinks out as she slides off the counter. Going to the living room, she pulls back the drapes to check the street. The sun isn't up yet, making the sky a dusky blue, sprinkled lightly with stars. The street looks empty and she goes to wake Harry up for his turn for watch when something in the kitchen window catches her eye.

Snatchers. At least five of them right outside the back door.

She kicks Harry. "Harry!" she says sharply. "Ron! Get up! Now! We have to go!" She doesn't wait for them. She darts for her wand and bag by her sleeping bag.

"What's wrong?" Harry asks, rubbing his eyes. He turns, catching sight of the Snatchers blasting open the door, but he doesn't have time to react. Something hits him hard in the face and he feels loopy, like his head is ten times too big.

Hermione lowers the wand from his face. "Sorry!" she says and the Snatchers are right in the room with them.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " one yells and the Hermione's wand flies from her hand.

They come forward, one already has Ron, and two of the remaining grab Hermione and Harry by their collars, training their wands carefully on their necks. The last two are ones Hermione recognizes. Fenrir Greyback and Scabior. They stalk in front of the trio like lions stalk their prey through the tall savannah grass.

"Well, well, well," Scabior says, wringing his filthy hands together. "What do we have here?" He comes close to Harry who stares back through swollen eyes. "You're kind of an ugly fucker aren't 'ya? What's your name?"

Hermione looks nervously at Harry who's obviously thinking fast.

"Vernon Dudley," Harry says. His speech is garbled through his puffy lips.

"Check it," Scabior tells Greyback, all the while not taking his roaming eyes off Harry. Hermione starts to panic. He recognizes Harry. She's sure of it.

Greyback takes out a notebook and flips through it quickly. "Not here."

Scabior's nostrils flare, but he turns to Ron next. "And you are?"

"Stan Shunpike."

Ron's answer gets him a knock on the head. "No you ain't! Do you think I'm stupid? Tell me who you are and don't you fucking lie to me!"

"Barny Weasley!" Ron chokes out.

This time, Scabior spits on his face. "Fucking blood-traitor Weasleys!"

Ron lunges, but the Snatcher holding him tightens his grip on his arms. Scabior grins at him, reviling yellow rotting teeth.

Then it's Hermione's turn. He moves in front of her, looking her up and down.

"Name."

"Penelope Clearwater," she says quickly. "Half-blood."

He squints at her. "Check it."

"Wait," Greyback says, stepping forward. "I recognize her!" he's starting to get excited. "She's that Mudblood from the _Daily Prophet_ known to be travelling with Harry Potter!"

Hermione's heart freezes and then starts pumping much too fast.

"Well, well, well!" Scabior says, grinning again. "This is just too perfect!" He looks at the three Snatchers holding them and then back at Greyback. "Let's go!"

Hermione feels the wind being sucked out of her as the Snatcher holding her disapparates. Her scull knocks and her teeth chatter and she feels like she's going to be sick.

Her feet slam on black-tile floor and she knows they're in the Malfoy Manor.

TBC next Sunday...

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for tuning in again! Please don't forget to leave your thoughts!**


	5. Chapter Four

_Hermione feels the wind being sucked out of her as the Snatcher holding her disapparates. Her scull knocks and her teeth chatter and she feels like she's going to be sick._

 _Her feet slam on black-tile floor and she knows they're in the Malfoy Manor._

* * *

Chapter Four

The Manor is cold and dark. The light seems green and it makes Hermione sick to have her eyes open. There are people here, most she doesn't recognize or ones she can't place.

Someone yanks her by the hair and she yelps, hearing the strands crack at the force. They drag her next to Ron and hold her there. The Snatcher, Scabior, shoves Harry in front of them, his face still swollen and puffy.

Suddenly he's there. Draco Malfoy stands before them, more pale and thin than Hermione has ever seen him, and he looks scared and out of place. Hermione feels like weeping. He's there, so close, yet she can't touch him. She can't take him away. She can't save him. He refuses to look at her, staring only at Harry, but she knows if he would so much as glance her way she would brake.

"Is it him?" the person holding Hermione growls and she recognizes Fenrir Greyback's rough voice.

Draco's eyes dart over Harry. "I-I can't be sure." His voice is like sandpaper.

"Draco," his father coos, resting a hand on his son's shoulder. "Look closely. Make no mistake."

Draco stiffens at his touch and his eyes shoot to the floor. He knows it's Harry. He doesn't need to look.

"Of course it's him!" yells a shrill voice. Bellatrix Lestrange waltzes into view. Her hair is piled high in black curls, reflecting her mad nature within. Her striking eyes glide over Hermione and Ron. "These are his little sidekicks: the Blood Traitor and the Mudblood!" she spits.

Hermione's blood runs cold as she stares straight ahead. There is a clatter behind her and she knows they're rifling through her bag. The sound of a page ripping splits the air and Hermione chokes at her books being torn.

"We have to be sure it's him," the Snatcher holding Ron says.

"Draco?" Lucius whispers.

"I-" he's cut short by a clamour behind Hermione.

Bellatrix's face twists. She flies toward the sound, shrieking, "Where did you get that?!"

"Found it in this here bag," a voice says. "Reckon it's mine now."

Bellatrix screams. flashes of light reflect off the walls Hermione is facing. There is a sound, like a whip cracking, and the Snatchers tumble to the ground, stunned.

Hermione feels another yank on her hair, harder this time, and she can't help but whimper quietly at her sore scalp. Her head is forced around and Bellatrix's wild eyes are inches from her face. Her heart speeds up and she forces herself not to cry.

"Where did you get this?!" Bellatrix demands, her voice full of rage.

The sword of Gryffindor swoops in front of her face, making her flinch.

"We found it!" she cries out.

"LIAR!"

 _Slap._

Hermione's cheek stings and flashes angry red. Her eyes pool and she tries not to blink, least the tears fall.

"Take them to the cellar!" Bellatrix demands. She grabs the front of Hermione's shirt and slams her back against a wall. "I want to have a talk with this one!"

Hermione's throat goes try, feeling like she's swallowing sand. Her eyes are blurred from tears, but she can make out Harry and Ron yelling and struggling as they're being pulled away. There is ice in her chest. Her teeth begin to ache. Blinking, she searches for Draco but cannot find his face in the group of Death Eaters watching her shake.

Bellatrix's face is right in front of her's again. The Death Eater's hot breath suffocates her and she tries to pull away, but the wall keeps her still.

"I'm going to ask you nicely one more time," Bellatrix whispers threateningly. "Were. Did. You. Get. THE SWORD!"

Hermione gasps. Tears pour freely down her face and she can't turn away, she can't hide herself. "Please!" she begs. "We found it!"

"YOU ARE LYING!"

Bellatrix's hand connects with her face again, but she quickly backs away and Hermione is able to bring a hand to her bruised cheek.

No one says a word. No one makes a move. The Death Eaters watch in silence as Bellatrix draws her wand again and points it at the weeping girl.

" _Crucio_!"

Hermione's knees buckle. She falls to a ball on the stone floor, writhing in pain. Her fingers shake as they grasp her shirt. It feels hot. All her clothes are on fire, burning her hair, singeing her skin, melting her shoes to her feet. fumbling with the fabric, her fingernails peel and her hands are forced into fists. A scream bubbles up her throat and forces past her teeth. And the pain is gone. As quick as it came, it is lifted, leaving her drained on the floor. Her chest heaves rapidly and she can't pull herself from the ground.

Bellatrix grabs her face between her sharp nails, forcing Hermione to look at her. "What else did you take?!"

Hermione sobs. "I don't know what you're talking about," she whispers, unable to talk any louder.

"You lying bitch! You Mudblood flith! I know you were in my vault! What else did you take? _CRUCIO!_ "

Hermione is again caught off guard. Screaming, she twists, trying to avoid the hundreds of needles that are now puncturing every inch of her skin. She can't take it. Her back arches involuntarily, contorting her spine.

It ceases, but she cannot breath. Gasping on the floor, she lolls her head to the side, eyelids like lead, her face on fire and beet red. Once again she looks for Draco in the crowd of sneering faces. She sees him standing in the back. His face is pale and he looks sick. Her fingers extend toward him and she sobs.

* * *

Draco can remember hurting when he's looked at her before. Sometimes he'd glance at her out of the corner of his eye in class or across the Great Hall and something under his ribcage would ache and his chest would get tight, and, if he wasn't careful, he'd forget to breathe. And it would hurt his head because this had never happened to him before. He'd never looked at Hermione before then and felt like something was pushing on his heart.

It hurt him like crazy until he figured it out, and after that it hurt even more because he wasn't supposed to feel like that. He wasn't supposed to see her as anything more than dirt beneath his feet. But he was. He was seeing her as the world. And he couldn't tell if she was feeling the same thing. He couldn't tell if she ever even thought about him the way he had started thinking about her. It felt like dying when he saw her laughing and he thought he could never make her smile like that. Because he wasn't allowed to.

But watching her now, that hurts worse. Because now he can tell she's hurting and he knows it's his fault, but he can't do anything to stop it. He can't do anything to save her. He isn't allowed to.

But now he's thinking that he doesn't really care what everyone else thinks any more.

* * *

Bellatrix's heals click on the floor as she walks back and forth, watching Hermione below her. Her long, bony fingers caress her wand and she can feel it vibrate, ready to strike again.

"I know you took that sword from my vault!" she tells Hermione. "What else did you take?!" Her eyes flash in anger, wand poised.

Hermione gasps for breath. Her tongue feels ten times too big and her throat ten times too small. "We didn't take it from your vault," she chokes out. "It's not even real."

Bellatrix sneers, her hair is bristling. Hermione can feel her anger like electricity in the air. She whips around to face the group of Death Eaters. "Someone get that damn Goblin."

There is a shuffle as the group decides who should go. Someone says, "Draco." and the youngest Death Eater steps toward the stairs. Hermione feels him leave. All her friends have left the room. All her _hope_. It feels like a vacuum. A great pressure pushing down on her temples.

The murderous witch leans over her again, coming nose to nose. She whispers quietly, so that Hermione can only barely hear her, but it's enough to turn her blood to ice. "If you are lying I will take this knife and run it from your belly to your jaw." She holds a knife to Hermione's face, long and slender and sharp. Hermione quivers as she moves it gently over her cheek.

Something rattles and Bellatrix stands up. The Gringotts Goblin, Griphook is brought forward in thick chains around his wrists and ankles and a nasty cut stands bright red on his cheek. He's thinner and paler than a Goblin should be and looks like he hasn't slept for awhile now. Draco leaves the Goblin's side and walks swiftly past Hermione, his face pointed at the ground the whole way, but she can see his jaw quiver. Griphook glances at Hermione, and for a moment, he nods slightly in her direction.

Greyback holds out the sword to Bellatrix, it glinting as she takes it from him and thrusts it into the hands of Griphook. He turns it over, runs his knotted fingers over the blade like it's a precious jewel, traces the patterns on the handle, balances its weight in his palms. The chains clink against it as he repeats this over and over again. Hermione can tell he is biding his time and she thanks him silently for it.

"Well?" Bellatrix snaps.

The Goblin sighs and gently sets the tip of the sword toward the ground. "It is a fake."

Bellatrix's face contorts. "You are lying!" she shrieks through clenched teeth. "You're all lying!" She flashes her wand at the Goblin. " _Crucio._ " And he falls to the floor, shaking in fits. The sword clatters next to him, but Bellatrix swoops to pick it up. "Take him downstairs!"

Another Death Eater roughly grabs Griphook by the arm and drags him toward the dark doorway to the basement. The other Death Eaters mummer quietly and Hermione notices that some have left the room with the stunned Snatchers. It's a small group now, only five or six watch on. Draco stands in the back, slightly behind his mother and father, and for the first time, he looks in her eyes and she can see that this is killing him. He's about the break.

It isn't long, however, before Hermione's attention is forced back to Bellatrix. The witch looks devilish. Her eyes are dark with rage, a cruel and crooked smile plays on her thin lips. She raises her wand toward the girl and Hermione hugs her knees to her chest in anticipation of the next strike.

" _Crucio._ "

She expects the stinging pain of needles or burning sensation of fire, but this time is different. Although her eyes are open, her vision goes black. Her chest caves, her lungs harden, her skin feels like its being stretched thin over her bones, and she can't breathe. Flailing her limbs, she tries to take breath. She pulls at her face, bites her own fingers, claws her own skin, but her lungs refuse to take in air. The world is dark to her. It is without light or breath or speech. Swallowing, thrashing, beating the floor with her fists, it doesn't help. And then, suddenly air is there, whooshing through her lungs, but burning in her throat. Her skin stings as it continues to stretch and she screams and cries. She begs for it to stop. Soon, her voice has stopped and she can only moan and cry as the curse continues to rip through her body. In one last struggle, on the brink of blacking out, she finds her voice and calls out.

"Draco!"

The pain stops. The black dots before her eyes disappear and she lays heaving, tears streaming down her face. It is bliss, but it is short lived. Bellatrix is on her once again. She slaps her face, hard.

"How dare you say his name!" Bellatrix yells and slaps her again. Hermione cries out, but can't lift her arms to shield her face. "Your Mudblood tongue is not worthy of _speaking_ your superior's name!" Her hand come back to hit her again, but she's cut short.

"Stop!"

All eyes in the room turn to the back wall. Draco is there, pale and trembling. His fist are in balls, his teeth tightly clenched. He looks furious and scared to death at the same time.

Hermione weeps harder for him.

"What's the matter, Draco? Do you want a turn?" Bellatrix asks him like she's talking to a child. "Come on then." She stands up and ushers him forward.

Draco stands still, brow low, jaw set.

"Draco?" his father puts a hand on his shoulder and gently pushes him forward, but he refuses to move.

"If you're not going to then, I guess I'll resume?" Bellatrix tests him. Her eyes are narrow and words like ice. She pulls her hand back again, ready to strike. Hermione flinches, brining her hand to her face.

"Do not touch her," Draco says through grit teeth. His wand is out now, held in front of him, but low like he's unsure. "Do not touch her," he repeats.

"Draco?" his mother warns questioningly, but he refuses to stand down, wand pointed a bit higher with his gaining confidence.

"What's the matter, Draco?" his aunt asks. "She's just a Mudblood!" She cackles and the sound of a slap rings around the room as she strikes the broken girl.

" _Stupify!_ " Draco throws at her, but she blocks the spell easily, shock on her face.

"Draco, what are you doing?" his father asks him and he tries to hold back his son.

Draco yanks him off his arm and takes a few paces closer. Rage is on both the nephew and aunt's face. A fire is burning in both their bellies.

"Try that again, you little brat!" she yells, and he does, casting non-verbally at her chest.

She isn't expecting it. Her wand comes up, but too late. Falling backward, her head cracks on the ground.

Draco doesn't wait. There are shouts of anger echoing all around the room, bouncing off the walls so he can't tell who or where they are coming from. Blood pumping in his ears, he runs out of the room to the basement.

Limbs shaking, Hermione struggles to sit up. Her vision is blurred and even goes black for a moment. There are shapes moving around the room, things being shouted that she can't understand. Her head spins. There are familiar voices yelling spells and others yelling curses.

She hears the shrill voice of Bellatrix screaming, "Get them! That is Harry Potter! Get them! Call the Dark Lord!"

Her vision focuses as Draco's face moves in front of hers. He's crying and he doesn't have his wand any more, but he grips her face and forces her to look at him under heavy lids. Trembling, her fingers brush his cheek and she suddenly feels so alive. She struggles to grip him tighter, but her fingers won't move.

Someone grabs Draco from behind; a Death Eater, and yanks him away.

He scrambles for her hands, shouting, "Hermione!" as he is dragged.

Something sharp grips her hair and forces her to her feet. She screams for him as her scalp is torn and Bellatrix's knife presses to her throat. "Stop them!" yells the sharp voice next to her ear.

Hermione can see Harry and Ron. They are back to back, stolen wands cast spell after spell to keep the Death Eaters away. There's too many of them. They're pressing in. Dobby the House Elf is doing his best between their feet.

"Dobby!" Harry yells. "Get Hermione!"

The House Elf looks in her direction and cowers back, dodging a curse. He uses his magic to push back a Death Eater close by and he makes a run straight for Hermione and Bellatrix. However, he is cut short. Heavy black smoke begins to swirl in his way and he stumbles backward. It makes a sucking noise like a tornado and there is a wind in the manor, whipping Hermione's hair against her cheeks. Bellatrix shrieks in glee and a look of pure terror crosses Harry's face. Grabbing Dobby's arm, he gives a fleeting look at Hermione, regret and apology in his eyes, and disappears into a swirling ball of light with Dobby and Ron. And they are gone. They have left her.

The black smoke in the room becomes thicker until it starts to become a solid shape. The Death Eaters cower against the wall. Bellatrix, screams in fury at Harry, Ron, and Dobby's disappearance. The knife on Hermione's throat presses deeper, breaking skin. A thick trickle of blood seeps down her neck. The smoke subsides and Lord Voldemort stands with the night as the cloak on his shoulders in the middle of the room.

Silence falls thickly. Heads bow low, not looking him in the eye. He breaths deeply through his snake-like nose and takes in the room with his slitted eyes. The thin pupils rest momentarily on Hermione, then moves on to look at each and every Death Eater.

"So?" he says calmly and not in the way Hermione thinks he should sound. "Where is he?"

No one answers.

"Surely you have him? Why else would you call me here if not for having captured Harry Potter?"

Hermione swallows hard against the blade. She cries silently and tremors.

"No?" Voldemort asks them. "You don't have him?"

"My Lord," a Death Eater with long black hair dares to say. "We did have him!"

Voldemort looks at who has spoken and moves closer, almost like a snake stalking its prey. "You _had_ him?" he asks. "Then were is he now?"

The Death Eater trembles. "He-he got away, my Lord."

"I see." Voldemort backs away, still eerily calm and smooth. "Lucius?" he says as he moves to him.

Lucius stiffens up, swallowing hard. "Y-yes, my Lord?"

"May I barrow the wand you are carrying?"

Shaking, Lucius presents his wand and Voldemort takes it delicately between his long and sickly fingers. He points it lazily at the black-haired Death Eater and mutters, " _Avada Kerdava."_ Flicking it lazily.

Hermione squeezes her eyes shut as the body falls limply to the ground with a dull thud.

"Do you see this?" Hermione hears Voldemort ask the group. "Such a valuable Death Eater had to die because you cannot preform one _simple_ task. I ask you to find Harry Potter. I ask you to keep him until I'm here. Is that really too hard? Is it?"

There are murmurs of "No, my Lord" around the room.

"It seems that it is. Perhaps I didn't teach you well enough. Perhaps you all need another lesson. Do you?"

Again, "No, my Lord" is murmured from every direction.

The tension in the room makes the hairs on Hermione's arms stand.

"Then _track him down!_ "

There is the sound of many whips cracking as the Death Eaters apparate from the room. Again, there is silence. Hermione squeezes her eyes tight, feeling the moisture seeping through her lashes. She prays. She prays hard that when her eyes open she'll be with Harry and Ron, wherever they are, and that she hadn't been left behind.

"What is this?" Voldemort's voice is closer.

Shivers boil on Hermione's arms as she feels him looking her over. Bellatrix's hand adjusts in her hair, yanking her head back father to expose her neck more, to make her more vulnerable.

"It is Potter's Mudblood sidekick, my Dark Lord," Bellatrix says.

Hermione feels his presence directly in front of her, inches away. The air is thick and hard to breathe and her neck is starting to ache.

"Why is she not with Potter?

"We were having a bit of fun right before Potter got away. She was close to me and I grabbed her, my Lord."

"Fun?" Voldemort asked. "What for? Enjoyment, information, or both?"

"Both, my Lord. The sword of Griffindor was in her bag. I know she's been in my vault, but she won't tell me what else she took!"

If Hermione would have had her eyes open she would have seen the fear flash in Voldemort's eyes for a short moment.

"Send someone to check it right away," he tells Bellatrix.

"Yes, my Lord."

"How did the boy escape? Did you not have him in chains or were you too foolish for that?"

"My Lord, we had him and his posy locked in the basement. It was Draco Malfoy who let them out!" She spits Draco's name like it is bile in her throat.

"The Malfoy boy?" Voldemort sounds surprised.

"Yes, my Lord. He hit me with a curse when I slapped the Mudblood. He must have opened the door then." Bellatrix's voice is no longer the screeching authoritative one it was minutes ago. It is reverent and lowly to Voldemort.

"He defended the Mudblood?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Then he- Where is he? Did he get away, too?"

"No, my Lord. Jugson took him to the dungeons."

"Bring him to me."

"Yes, my Lord. And of the Mudblood? Can I kill her?"

"No." Voldemort's voice is very close to Hermione's face. "Take her to the dungeons as well. If she is alive, the Potter boy will come back for her."

"Yes, my Lord," she sounds upset.

Hermione's bruised scalp is yanked again and she is being dragged from the room. Her hands go to her head, trying to lessen the pain. Bellatrix drags her down corridors and steps, the rooms, becoming darker and darker the farther down they go. The air becomes moist and cold, smelling stale. They reach a long, black-stoned corridor at the bottom of the steps. One candle every few doorway is flickering, but the darkness seems to swallow all the light. Bellatrix reaches for her wand and casts _Lumos,_ but even that is suffocated only feet before them.

There are cells on each side of the hallway, blocked by thick metal bars. They look like black holes where no light could ever reach. They pass these cells to reach a large room at the end of the hall. It has two barred doors to the left and right and the air is frigid. Hermione is pulled through the right door and can see the rest of the room is about twenty feet in length, but narrow. Chains and cuffs cover the walls like drapes. On the opposite side of the room is Draco. He is chained to the wall, slouched over on the floor. He looks up as they enter and his eyes grow wide.

"Hermione!" He pulls on the chains, reaching for her.

"Draco!" She fights against Bellatrix, earning another ear-splitting smack across the face.

Bellatrix throws her to the floor, pointing her wand at the chains that quickly cuff themselves to Hermione's arm. Hermione shakes and pulls them, but they only rattle and chafe against her wrist.

Bellatrix struts across the floor to Draco. He glares at her with such intensity it would make most cower away. Not her. She points her wand at him and he becomes stiff as a board. The cuffs leave his arm and Bellatrix has him hover above the ground in front of her.

"Please don't kill him!" Hermione begs. "Please!" Her voice scratches her throat and her speech is broken.

Bellatrix ignores her, floating Draco out and taking the light with them. The room falls into total pitch. The darkness is tangible and suffocating. It feels like it's pressing in on her eyes, coming closer and closer, ready to consume her. She leans her head against the wall and sobs uncontrollably. Her cries echo around the room and all throughout the dungeons. Strange noises seem to lurk in every corner. She pulls her knees to her chest, sucking on her jeans. She feels helpless, terrified, dead, and forgotten.

TBC Next Sunday...

* * *

 **A/N: Reviews=Love :)**


	6. Chapter Five

_"Please don't kill him!" Hermione begs. "Please!" Her voice scratches her throat and her speech is broken._

 _Bellatrix ignores her, floating Draco out and taking the light with them. The room falls into total pitch. The darkness is tangible and suffocating. It feels like it's pressing in on her eyes, coming closer and closer, ready to consume her. She leans her head against the wall and sobs uncontrollably. Her cries echo around the room and all throughout the dungeons. Strange noises seem to lurk in every corner. She pulls her knees to her chest, sucking on her jeans. She feels helpless, terrified, dead, and forgotten._

* * *

Chapter Five

Hermione doesn't know how long she'd been here in the dark. There are no windows, no clocks, no periodic happenings. For all she knows, days could have passed, hours, or just minutes. She can't even tell if she's slept. It is all the same whether or not her eyes are closed and she feels just as drained as she had earlier.

There is a loud noise that makes her jump and metal scraping on metal. A light is coming down the dark hallway to her barred door. She sits up straight in order to see better, but the glare from the light obstructs her view. Finally they come into view and her heart sinks. It's Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione shrinks back down as the door opens and Bellatrix clicks in, shutting it behind her. Hermione is completely alone with her. There is no one to save her and she is helplessly chained to the wall.

Bellatrix says nothing which frightens Hermione even more. She crouches down in front of her and takes out the same knife she had held against her throat earlier. She touches it to her cheek again and Hermione winces at the cool metal.

"Here's what's going to happen." Bellatrix's voice is so calm. "You're going to tell me where your little friends might have gone and I won't have to use this."

Hermione's lip starts to tremble and she shakes her head. "I don't know." Her voice is horse and scratchy.

For once, Bellatrix doesn't argue. She shrugs, adjusts her grip on the dagger and brings it to Hermione's chained arm. The blade cuts into her skin, leaving deep tracks of blood where the knife slides. Hermione cries out loud and flinches, pulling her arm against the metal cuff.

"Please!" Hermione screams, her back arching. "I don't know!"

Bellatrix doesn't seem to hear. The knife stings and burns and bruises her skin. Tears leak down her face and she shakes her head to distract herself from the pain. Bellatrix seems to be cutting some pattern into her, but the pain burns everywhere. It makes her toes curl and her teeth chatter.

Finally, she pulls the blade from her skin and Hermione slumps weakly against the wall.

"How long?" Bellatrix's nose is almost touching hers.

Hermione shakes her head. "W-what?"

"How long have you been with Draco?" she shrieks. Hermione winces.

"I-"

"HOW LONG HAS HE BEEN A BLOOD TRAITOR!?" she screams, cutting her off. "HOW MANY TIMES HAS HIS PURE BLOOD MIXED WITH YOUR FILTH!?" Hermione covers her face with her free hand and squeezes the tears through her lashes. "HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU FUCKED HIM!? ANSWER ME!"

"I don't- he didn't- we never-" Her sentences won't form. Her words won't string together to make sense. Her sobs break up her speech until she can't say anything at all.

 _Smack._

Bellatrix's hand cuts across her already bruised cheek. She stands up, towering over her, and spits on her face. Then she says not a word as she leaves the room. She doesn't even look back at the broken girl against the wall.

Before the light is completely gone from the room, Hermione dares a look at her arm. 'Mudblood' is cut deep and glistening in her skin. Blood is smeared angrily over the letters and dripping onto the stone floor. She lets out a sob and presses her lips together, wiping the wetness off her face. Goose pimples bubble on her arms in the cold, moist air making her shiver violently. She pulls her legs tight to her chest and tucks her free arm in her shirt where her belly is full of hot coals.

Long after the light is gone and she is again swallowed by blackness, her forearm continues to throb and pulse and swell, keeping her from sleep.

* * *

Still, she doesn't know how long it's been or what time of day it is. All she knows is he's not dead.

The door on the other side of her cell clinks open and Draco is being brought in by two House Elves. His feet are dragging and he doesn't put up any fight as they push him against the wall and fasten the cuff around his left arm. The orange light from the House Elves' torch illuminates his face which is pale and skeletal-like. There is a spot of crimson dribbling down his chin from his mouth. The arm that's being chained is also bloody, but Hermione can't get a good look before the light leaves with the Elves.

All is quiet. She can hear him breathing heavily from across the room, but it's uneven and sometimes shallow.

"Draco," she whispers to him, her voice cutting through the darkness like a knife.

It takes a minute for him to answer, and when he does, it's raspy and weak. "Hermione?"

She swallows thickly. "Are you okay?"

"No."

She bites her lip and tears well in her eyes.

"Are you?" he asks her.

"No," she sobs and then quickly grinds her teeth. "What happened to your arm?"

"My aunt. It says 'Blood Traitor'. Cut over my Dark Mark."

Silence.

"Draco?"

"Hmm?" He sounds tired.

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," he sighs. "We'll think of something." And suddenly his voice has become shaky. "You and me. We're the best in our class, remember? We'll think of something."

She nods her head even though he can't see and whispers, "Okay."

"Don't let them break you, Hermione," he says. "Don't believe anything they tell you. You have to keep a clear head. They will lie and try to manipulate you, trust me, I know, but you can't let them do that. You're the most stubborn girl I know and I know you can keep them from ruining you."

She smiles, despite her situation. "I love you."

"I know. I love you."

"I know."

* * *

Hermione jerks awake. This time she can tell she's slept for awhile because of her sore neck and uncomfortable need to urinate. Her throat is also dry and her spit thick. She swallows with difficulty and adjusts herself to stand as much as the chain will allow. Her legs creak at her joints and the whole of her shivers as she stretches. The metal cuff around her wrist chafes angrily against her skin, making her take a sharp breath and hold her arm carefully. With her other hand, she feels her arm gingerly. It's swollen and crusted with blood. It throbs maddeningly still and she fears it will become infected.

She stands like this for what seems like hours. She can hear Draco's sleeping breath across the room and she doesn't wake him, knowing he needs what sleep he can get. Thinking of her soft bed at home, or even the cot in her tent makes her eyes burn and her body ache for it. She begins to wonder how long she's been imprisoned here. Days? Weeks? Only hours? Then she thinks of Harry and Ron and she becomes angry. They left her. Harry looked right in her face and left her there in Bellatrix's hands. Do they know what they've done to her? Are they ever coming back for her? She stifles a sob, reminding herself to keep a clear head. She'll drive herself mad being angry at them. They will come back, she decides. They won't leave her. Harry and Ron will come back for her and Draco both.

Draco. She thinks of him, how he must feel: imprisoned in his own home, by his own aunt. Where are his parents? Has Voldemort killed them like Draco so feared he would? She never meant for this to happen. If she'd have known falling in love with Draco would mean this is how they would end up, she wouldn't have let herself. She would have made him stop loving her if she'd known he'd torture himself in an attempt to save her.

She slumps back against the wall and begins counting the seconds. Determined to keep track of time, counting it herself is the only way she can think of. By the time she reaches 1659 seconds her head has lolled to the side and her eyes have again fallen shut against her will.

This repeats five more times. She wakes, stands, stretches, thinks, cries, counts, sleeps. Over and over until it all blends together and she can't remember if she's just woken or sat down to sleep again.

Her bladder grows more and more uncomfortable until she's debating whether or not to urinate here on the floor. She would except it would cling against the wall and quickly turn cold in the frigid air and she'd have to sit in it.

Finally, when her ears are ringing with the silence of the dungeon and her bladder full to bursting, a light comes down the down the tunnel accompanied by two House Elves.

"Draco," she says because she thinks he's still sleeping. "Someone's coming."

She hears him stir and the chain clank against the wall as he sits up straight.

The Elves open the barred doors and the light from their lantern spills into the cell.

"Moule!" Draco says to one of the Elves. "You're a good Elf. Let us go and you can come with us! No one will hurt you!"

The Elf with the bulbous and crooked nose covers his large ears. "Mistress says Moule is not allowed to talk to prisoners."

"Excuse me," Hermione says, smiling though it becomes more of a grimace. "May we at least use the restroom?"

Moule regards her sourly and then whispers with the other Elf for a moment. Snapping his fingers, he says, "Prisoners may use these." And two buckets appeared on either end of the room.

Draco looks at his in disgust. "A bucket!" he says, pushing it with his toe. "There are plenty of toilets in this house! Let us use the servants' one for Merlin's sake!"

Draco's yelling seems to do nothing to sway them.

"What about food?" Hermione asks. "And water? We need to eat!"

"Mistress says prisoners may get the eats when they earn it," says Moule.

"What does that mean?" Hermione asks.

"It means they're going to make us work for it," Draco tells her. His cheek is dirty from being pressed against the wall and she wonders if hers is too.

"But we're down here! How can we work for food if we're chained to a wall?"

"No more talking!" squeaks Moule who is covering his ears again. "Tinky and Moule must go!" He grabs the other Elf and the lantern and they scurry out of the room. "Must tell mistress!" Hermione can hear him muttering as they clank away with the light. "Must tell mistress they is talking!"

When they are gone and the sound of the door shutting rattles through the dungeon, Hermione squints through the darkness to where Draco is.

"I've got a plan," she says, the wheels in her head whirring away.

"What?" Draco asks somewhat urgently.

"Not now. Give me some time to think about it a little more. When you say they'll make us work, what does that mean?"

"I've seen it before," Draco says. "They bring in Muggle-Borns and Blood Traitors and sometimes, before they kill them, they make them work. Mostly House Elf stuff like scrubbing floors and cleaning walls."

"Does that mean free range of the house?"

"I don't know. But even if it did, they put chains around their ankles so they can't run, not that you'd want to because it would be worse then."

She cocks her brow and stares wildly around the room, thinking hard. A small fire lights inside her chest and she is careful to not let it ignite her whole.

"Okay," she says. "Okay, okay, okay."

Draco can hear the excitement in her voice. "Oh, Hermione, you're amazing!"

She smiles sheepishly. "Not yet I'm not. I'm not finished thinking and we're not out of here yet."

Draco goes quiet, letting her scheme. She squeezes her eyes shut and builds up charts in her mind. She wishes desperately for a scrap of parchment, but her mind will have to do. Diagrams and pictures are organized, scenes are played, and a plan starts to birth. She isn't going to have to wait for Harry and Ron to come save them. She's going to get them out herself.

TBC Next Sunday...

* * *

 **A/N: I know this one was kinda short, but I thought that would be a good place to end it.**

 **Hugs and kisses to everyone who has reviewed so far. Please don't forget to do so today!**


	7. Chapter Six

_Draco goes quiet, letting her scheme. She squeezes her eyes shut and builds up charts in her mind. She wishes desperately for a scrap of parchment, but her mind will have to do. Diagrams and pictures are organized, scenes are played, and a plan starts to birth. She isn't going to have to wait for Harry and Ron to come save them. She's going to get them out herself._

Chapter Six

Hermione hasn't slept at all when they come to get her. Two tall Death Eaters in long dark robes enter the cell and one fastens a chain around her ankles, just long enough for her to walk in, but not run. He takes off the cuff around her wrist and she can see it's red and bloody from where it had chafed. She also gets a good look at the cuts on her arm that are oozing and swollen and throbbing.

The Death Eater pulls her to her feet, training a wand at her back and says, "Walk."

"What about him?" she asks, looking at Draco who hasn't been moved.

"He doesn't concern you. _Walk._ " The Death Eater stabs his wand into her back.

"Draco?" She looks at him in concern as she's pushed out of the cell.

"It's okay," he says. "Just go."

"I said, _walk!_ "

She walks. Blood rushes to her legs and they tingle as she shuffles out to the stairs.

White light pierces her eyes when she reaches the top of the stairs and tears blur her vision. The Death Eater leads her blindly to the right and pushes her up another set of stairs, wooden ones that creek under her shoes.

They enter a hallway. It's warm from the sunbeams shining in through the beautiful stain-glass windows, making shadows of rainbows on the hardwood floor. If Hermione had been there for other reasons than what she was there for now, she would have smiled at its beauty and lay down in the rainbow on the floor. She doesn't smile though. The cuffs chafing around her ankles painfully remind her why she is here, but she is still glad for the difference from the cold dungeon that gives rest to her chills.

The hallway ends at two large oak doors with curly golden handles. The Death Eater pulls open the doors and pushes her through to an amazing ballroom. The walls are high and decorated, the ceiling is dazzling with many diamond chandeliers, two balconies for orchestras sit high in the wall. The floor stretches forever in long, dark strips of wood. Hermione stands in awe at its size and beauty until a bucket full of soap and brushes is splashed into her arms, soaking the front of her with warm water.

"Scrub the floor," the Death Eater says. His voice echoes in the vast room. "Then you may drink if it's done well enough."

He leaves the room and closes the door behind him with a snap. Hermione feels tiny in the gigantic room. The walls seem to loom over her and the floor seems to taunt her by stretching out as far as it can. She walks to the far left corner, her shoes clicking on the vast floor, chain rattling behind her, and sets down the bucket and herself next to it.

She picks up the brush and stares at the blurring bristles, tears welling in her eyes. She pushes them away and sets the brush on its teeth. Biting her cracked lip, she cups some water in her hand and brings it to her nose. It reeks of chemicals and cleaners. No good to drink, though her throat begs for it. She brings it instead to the cut on her arm and gently washes away the crusted blood and infection that has leaked from the flapping skin. It stings like a wasp, but she grits her teeth against it and brings up another handful to rinse it off. When she's done, she finds a dry spot on her shirt and pats it tenderly dry.

She sits for a moment and just stares at the vastness of the floor, gauging how long it will take her to clean. She wonders what would happen if she just sat there forever, or got up and tried to run away. She shakes her head. It wouldn't work. Her limbs shake from lack of water and she knows the only way to get that is drinking from this bucket or cleaning the floor and being allowed something to drink.

Without warning, she bursts into body-shaking sobs, the weight of her situation crushing suddenly down on her. She feels like nothing more than the Mudblood she has been so branded as and it ices her to the core. For a few horrifying moments, she can do nothing but choke and heave and sob uncontrollably. Her fingers won't grasp the brush handle, her legs won't move to sit at a better angle, and her jaw won't stop bouncing.

Finally, she's able to breath, though it's shallow and riddled with gasps and chokes.

Placing her shaking fingers around the brush handle, she scrubs and scrubs until her fingers have molded around the handle, her shoulder aches, and her head feels heavy with chemicals.

After what seems like hours, the floor is done and sparkling, the knees of her jeans are soaked through, her back creeks, and her fingers are shrivelled. Her legs shake as she stands, unused to holding her weight. She's back at the large doors with the swirly handles, curls plastered to her face with sweat and dirty water. The floor is wet but clean and she realizes that she is alone and unguarded.

The doors are unlocked and don't so much as squeak when she opens them. The hallway is empty and she steps carefully into it. There is no one around, no place they could be hiding or watching, still her heart hammers and her neck heats like she's being watched. The chain makes the most noise as it is dragged, still it's enough to keep her spinning in circles, afraid something is going to sneak up behind her.

She passes the stairs she came up without stopping. This is her chance to scope out the manor, to complete the plan she was forming her her mind. There are another set of doors at the opposite end of the hallway. The handles are golden and curvy like the ones on the doors to the ballroom. She pulls on them, but the door won't budge. There are two windows at the top of the door shaped like suns halfway above the horizon line and she stands on her toes to peer out them.

She thinks she must be looking out the front of the house. There is a porch and three steps before a stone walkway that curves and twists just enough. The path leads to a giant and extravagant golden gate, a large letter _M_ embossed on the front. The gateway is surrounded by a tall hedge that boarders the front yard and runs past her vision on both sides. A fountain, reminding her much of the Fountain of Fair Fortune in _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ , stands proud but dry as a bone to the left, surrounded by a ring of what Hermione assumes will be flowers when the weather is right. She takes note of the yard, studying its every inch, considering its every possibility to her plan.

There is the sound of footsteps behind her, making her jerk around, her heart beating wildly in her chest. The same Death Eater from before clambers up the steps. He looks at her, at first in confusion and then in anger.

"What are you doing? Have you finished scrubbing the floor?" he bites.

"Yes," she says rather proudly, refusing to cower before him. "Where is my drink?"

"You are so confident you deserve one?" He walks to the other end of the hall, peering in at the ballroom floor that her fingers are cramped from. "Fine," he snarls, turning back to her and quickly moving to grab her arm.

* * *

When Hermione leaves the cell and the tell-tale rattle of the door finishes echoing throughout the dungeon, Draco snaps.

"Let me go," he tells the Death Eater that has been left with him. His voice is calm but dripping with malice and he knows he can't keep it that way for long. He's been holding back for Hermione's sake, so she won't panic. She's a strong girl, he knows that, but he could see her starting to break. He is already broken. He broke a long time ago and now that she's out of the room he's nothing but a time-bomb.

"You had your chance to be let go along time ago," said the icy voice of the Death Eater. Draco recognizes him. He's been at meetings with him before. He just can't place his name. "You wasted it."

Draco tugs on the chain around his wrist, ignoring the way it bites his skin. "Do it now or I will personally see to it that you rot in Azkaban for the rest of your life." He knows he is no position to make threats, but he is so angry he can taste it like vomit in the back of his throat.

The Death Eater chuckles and walks closer to him. He squats down in front of Draco. His breath is sour, but Draco refuses to cower away. "You think you are getting out of here?" he whispers. "You are going to die in here, Malfoy. You are going to starve and slowly wither away to nothing chained to this wall. All because you fell in love with a filthy Mudblood."

"I swear, if you do anything to her, for every scratch you put on her body, for every curse you use, I will fucking tear you to pieces," Draco whispers back with as much ice as he can.

"Don't worry," the Death Eater says, standing up. "She'll outlive you. She'll watch you shrivel and die and rot across this cell. We can use her." He walks to the door. "I hope she's worth it."

Draco shrieks at him as he leaves. Too angry for words, yelling is all he can think of to do. He screams for what seems like hours, yelling obscenities and curses when he finds words. When his voice cracks and his throat is raw he leans back and slides down the wall with tears streaming down his face. He whispers now. Begs to be let go though no one can hear him. And then he stops caring about how he'll get out. He doesn't care if he rots here like the Death Eater said. He just wants her out.

"Please," he whispers. "Just let _her_ go."

No one hears him but a colony of rats living in the upper pipes. And they don't care.

* * *

The manor is like a labyrinth. She tries to memorize the many turns and stairs and doors, but it's all too much. Eventually, the air gets cooler again and she thinks they have made it back underground. The Death Eater leads her through a set of doors and suddenly she's overcome with the smell of food. It nearly makes her faint. She hasn't eaten in so long and her stomach seems to realize that now as they walk into a metallic kitchen. There are about five House Elves stirring, frying, and baking. The two that came to her cell earlier aren't there.

"There will be guests tonight. You'll be serving. Lestrange requested you." the Death Eater tells her.

"What about my drink?" she asks, her already dry throat clenching.

"You'll get food and drink tonight," he says simply and leaves the room before she can protest.

She turns to face the Elves that don't seem to notice her at all. She is about to stop one and ask it if it knows what she's to do when something in the back of the kitchen catches her eye. It's a person, not an Elf, and they look rather familiar, it's hard to tell though because their clothes are torn, their face is dirty, and their body is at an unnatural weight. The person-a boy only a little younger than her-is walking her way with a tray in hand. When he gets close enough she recognizes him through the smudges. Despite his appearance and situation, she finds the oddest thing about him is the lack of a camera in his hand.

He starts to hand her the platter with five sparkling wine glasses on it, but stops. "You're Hermione Granger," he says, a look of disbelief passing his eyes.

She chokes and her dry lips crack with a smile as she nods. "Colin Creevey."

"You're Hermione Granger," he says again as though he can't stop. "Hermione Granger. Harry Potter's friend. You've been captured? Harry has too? This is bad. They'll kill him. Then they'll kill me. No. It's good. If Harry's here he'll get us out."

"Harry's not here," she tells him quietly and the look of faint excitement passes from his eyes. "It's just me."

"Oh," he says, looking down. Hermione looks down too and sees that he isn't wearing any shoes. His toes are torn and caked black and his ankles are also chained.

"Colin?" she asks. He looks at her. "How long have you been here?"

He thinks for a moment. "Three months? I'm not sure. It was just after Christmas when they took me. I was at Hogwarts, see, and I… the Carrows… they had my brother and I tried to stop it… I…" he broke off. "I'm only not dead because I'm better at understanding the codes they use on that radio broadcast _Potterwatch_ than the Death Eaters." A look of horror comes over his face, making him pale dramatically. "Oh no! Hermione! I didn't! I'm so sorry! I told them about the magic in that muggle town, Little Winging! That was you, wasn't it? I'm so sorry! This is all my fault!"

Hermione shook her head softly. "It wasn't us," she lies.

"Oh, good."

"Colin, is there anyone else here with you?"

He nods slightly. "One other person from Hogwarts, one German and two American muggle-borns who were vacationing in England for Christmas, and a couple half-bloods. The Death Eaters have already killed three of us. I'm surprised they haven't killed more."

Hermione's eyes widen. She can't believe she's been so ignorant. Of course there's more people. This makes her re-think her whole plan. She can't leave them. She can't just take Draco and herself and go.

"Where are they? Where are you being held?" she asks him.

"I can't say where exactly. It's dark and dungeon-like, farther underground."

Another dungeon? Hermione frowns. What kind of people have one dungeon, let alone two in their own house? _The sick and twisted kind,_ she thinks and she remembers that Draco is heir to those sick and twisted people. Her face actually grows warm with anger at him and she has to forcibly remind herself that, though he may be heir, he isn't those people.

Somewhere, a bell rings and the room seems to grow warmer with urgency. Colin's eyes widen and he hands her the tray.

"They're here," he says.

"Who are?"

"The guest you're supposed to serve. I'm surprised they let you. The most contact we've had with the Death Eaters is being told which room to clean next and being put back into the cell."

"Apparently I was requested," Hermione gulped, her stomach clenched uncomfortably. "Why don't they let people serve them?"

"I don't know exactly. I think it's because they talk about things they don't want us to hear. So try to listen to them, aye, Hermione? Tell me what they say?"

"Okay. Do I go now?"

"Yeah, you better hurry."

"Where do I go?"

"Up the stairs and to the left."

She nods, her heart beating faster. Suddenly, she feels like crying again, but she chokes it down. No way will she cry in front of them. Bellatrix has to see that she hasn't weakened her.

She opens the door with the tray of glasses in her hand and heads up the stairs quickly, but not so quick as to spill the wine.

In the dining room there is a long dark table with high-backed chairs, five of which are occupied. An emerald fire blazes at the far side of the room, giving the whole room a sickly green glow. She walks to the table, keeping her head down and her feet quiet.

As she nears, the chatter from the Death Eaters dies down. Her breathing quickens and her face flushes as she feels every eye in the room pointed her way.

She tries to ignore it, taking a glass from the tray and setting it in front of the nearest Death Eater.

"Look who it is!" says a delighted voice. Hermione doesn't even have to look up to know who spoke. She ignores her, moving to the next person and setting a cup in front of them, but Bellatrix won't let her off that easily. "How are you feeling? Sleeping well?" she mocks.

Hermione glances at her on the verge of tears. Bellatrix is smiling widely and Hermione prays she won't make her answer.

Next to Bellatrix is Fenrir Greyback. Across from them is a Death Eater she doesn't recognize and the Snatcher, Scabior. The person seated towards the head of the table, though, makes her almost drop the tray. She bites her tongue to keep from saying anything to Lucius Malfoy. He has a deep cut up his face and looks much paler than she remembers him being.

"Not going to answer?" Bellatrix pouts. "Tell me then, how is my dear, dear nephew?"

Hermione feels Lucius tense at Bellatrix's question as she sets a glass in front of him.

"Grimmig tells me he's rather pale and grouchy," Bellatrix continues, the smile on her face growing wider. "He should really eat better."

This earns her a laugh from the Death Eater and Scabior on the other side of the table. Greyback chuckles and grins. Lucius clears his throat and takes a swig of the dark wine.

Hermione swallows hard. She sets down the last glass and dashes from the room before Bellatrix can ask her any more.

Back in the kitchen, Colin looks at her with pity, clearly understanding. He hands her another tray, this time it's full of plates of salad. Hermione forces herself to breathe. Her throat is so dry she doesn't think she can stand it.

"Colin?" she asks. "There isn't any way I could get something to drink, is there?"

He looks around nervously at the Elves who still seem to be paying them no mind. "Take this out and I'll see what I can do."

She nods and heads back to the dining room, feeling like vomiting though she's not sure there is anything in her stomach to throw-up.

It isn't any better this time. Bellatrix continues to mock her as she passes out the plates and even berates Draco in front of his father, though Hermione is sure it's aimed to upset her more than Lucius.

When she goes back to the kitchen, Collin is preparing the next tray with plates of the main course.

"Here," he says, sliding her a glass of water.

She lunges for it and swallows it in one go. Her throat cools and she can swallow easily again.

Colin watches her. "They haven't given you anything to drink yet?"

She shakes her head.

"Do you want more?"

She nods and he fills it in the sink. Again, the glass is empty within seconds.

The bell rings again, signalling to bring out the main course. She does this as quickly as she can. This time, Bellatrix ignores her, seeming to grow bored with her jokes and Hermione couldn't be more thankful for this.

It seems to take forever, but the main course is finished and the bell rings for Hermione to take out one last dish: dessert.

By now, the Death Eaters and Snatchers have gotten used to her and they don't so much as glance at her as she brings out the plates. Still, she wants to make it quick.

She picks up the dirty plates quickly and sets down the new ones. However, when she gets to Greyback, she slows. His wand is laying on the table, toward the edge, completely unprotected. She stares at it as she slowly picks up his plate and sets down the new one. Then she glances around the table. No one is watching her. Their faces are either in their new dish or on Scabior who is telling a lively story about a raid he participated in. She doesn't have time to think. If she hesitates the perfect moment will be gone.

Her hand darts out, grabbing the wand. She tucks it quickly into her waist and glances about the table once more. No one saw.

She picks up Bellatrix's plate quickly and scurries away, the wand tucked dangerously into her waistband.

She's almost at the door when Bellatrix tells her, "Wait!"

Her blood turns to ice. She can no longer breathe.

"Come back here, you imbicile!" Bellatrix shrieks.

Hermione obliges, shuffling back, bracing herself for the curse she is sure to receive.

"Where is mine?" Bellatrix asks her.

Hermione doesn't know what to do. Was that actually Bellatrix's wand? If she'd known it was Bellatrix's she might not have taken it, knowing she'd notice right away. She decides to play dumb.

"Your what?" Her voice is smooth though she shakes uncontrollably.

"My what?" Bellatrix laughs. "My dessert, you fool!" Hermione almost sighs in relief. She'd forgotten to leave Bellatrix her plate. "And they says she's the brightest witch of her age," Bellatrix tells the group as they look on in bemusement. "Just goes to show how intelligent all Mudbloods really are." The group laughs and Hermione blushes again, walking swiftly from the room.

She gets back to the kitchen and she's breathing heavy.

"What's the matter?" Colin asks her. "Did they do something? Did they say something? They said something, didn't they? Was it about Harry? He's coming to save us? I knew it!"

"No, Colin," Hermione snaps, though she can't help the smile on her lips at her amazing success. "Harry isn't coming for us. You know, Harry isn't the super hero you think he is. He didn't just steal Fenrir Greyback's wand from right off the table," she whispers the last part and flashes him the wand that is uncomfortably poking into her side.

His eyes go as wide as saucers. "You… you… I don't believe it! What are you going to do? Are you going to disapparate? No, you can't disapparate from inside here, you have to be beyond the hedge. Are you going to fight? I don't think you can take them all, no offence, you're really good, I'm sure, it's just there are a lot of them…"

"I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm going to hide it until I know for sure. I'll keep it under my shirt unless I can find some place better. I need to know what the manor looks like at night."

"Well, I've never been out at night, but Anna, that American girl, says she was out once because they wanted to keep… never mind," he trails off, looking as though the thought makes him sick.

"It's okay," Hermione tells him, keeping her eyes trained on the Elves, making sure they aren't paying too much attention to them. "I've got Draco Malfoy."

Colin's eyes go wide again. "Oh, Hermione, he won't help you. I've seen him around, but he mostly just hides in his room and refuses to talk to anyone. I tried."

Hermione looks down at her shoes and bruised ankles. "He's actually not in his room any more."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, when I was first brought here, Bellatrix wanted information from me. Draco stopped her and now they're keeping him in the dungeons. The same cell I'm in."

"Oh." He is quiet for a moment, for once, at a loss for words. "Hermione, what if they catch you with the wand?" he whispers.

She shakes her head fiercely. "I won't let them."

Colin smiles. It is awkward like he isn't used to it. "Come on," he says. "We have to scrub the table and counters before they'll let us have anything to eat." He hands her a rag and she goes to wipe the table, the wand jabbing her side with each step.

When she is finished, she returns to the kitchen and helps Colin finish with the counters. The House Elves are gone, cleaning some other part of the manor, she thinks. The Death Eater that had brought her here returns and grabs her by the arm, pulling her out just as the Elf, Moule, walks in, presumably to get Colin.

The whole walk back to the dungeon she can feel the wand slipping in her waistband and she prays it won't fall. The Death Eater holds her dangerously close and she is sure he can feel the wand through her pants.

Walking back into the darkness, Hermione suddenly realizes how tired she is. She can't believe only a day has passed when it felt like months since she's last left the cell.

The Death Eater forces her to the ground. She winces as the wand digs into her thigh, afraid it is going to snap. He removes the cuffs from her feet and replaces the one around her wrist. Then he snaps and the other House Elf, Tinky, appears with a jug of water and a plate of what looks like leftovers from the meal she's just served.

They leave and total darkness washes over her.

"Draco?" she whispers.

"Hermione? Are you okay?"

"Yes," she says. "Actually, better."

She waits a moment, listening carefully to make sure they are alone again in the cell. Then, she slowly slides the wand from inside her jeans and holds it in front of her.

" _Lumos,"_ she whispers and a ball of light appears. She holds the wand high so the light can travel farther. Draco's eyes are huge and his mouth it gaping. Tears come to her eyes, but this time, of joy. "Tell me about the manor layout," she laughs. "I'm going to get us out!"

TBC Next Sunday...

* * *

 **A/N: Hello my lovelies! I don't have much to say so I'll keep this short. Thanks for reading, following, and favouriting!**

 **Do me a favour: leave a review!**


	8. Chapter Seven

_She waits a moment, listening carefully to make sure they are alone again in the cell. Then, she slowly slides the wand from inside her jeans and holds it in front of her._

 _"Lumos," she whispers and a ball of light appears. She holds the wand high so the light can travel farther. Draco's eyes are huge and his mouth it gaping. Tears come to her eyes, but this time, of joy. "Tell me about the manor layout," she laughs. "I'm going to get us out!"_

 _..._

Chapter Seven

For the longest time, Draco simply gapes at the wand in Hermione's hand. Her smile spreads wider, feeling more and more amazing the longer Draco stares in disbelief.

Finally, he's able to speak. "Hermione, you foolish witch."

Her grin falters a little. "What? Why?"

"How long do you think before they notice a wand is missing? It might take a while for them to figure it out, and you'll have time before they realize who took it, but when they do you'll regret it."

She frowns at him, though he looks at her, not with anger, but with worry. "I was just trying to help," she said. "I was pretty proud of myself."

He sighs. "I know. I'm still trying to decide if you were being brave or stupid."

She smiles a little.

"Who's is it?"

"Fenrir Greyback's."

Again, his eyes widen and flash. "How did you manage that?"

"They had me serving dinner. His wand was just there, so I took it."

"Greyback was at dinner?" he asks

She nods.

"Who else was there?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange, Scabior, a Death Eater I don't know, and..." she hesitates, wondering if it is a good idea to tell him his father was there.

"And?" he prompts.

"And your father."

Besides the slight change of his eyes, he looks un-phased. "He's alive?"

She nods. "He had a cut on his face..."

"Was my mother there?"

"No."

He's quiet and refuses to look at her. She can't tell if he's worried or relieved. The light from the wand isn't spectacular and she's afraid to make it any brighter in case someone comes down.

"Come here," he says.

She tugs on the chain. "How-"

"Use the wand."

She points the wand at the cuff and whispers, " _Alohamora."_ The cuff pops off. She picks up the jug of water and plate of food the Elf brought her and scrambles over to Draco.

Setting down the food, she points the wand at his chain and it comes off easily. His wrist is red and swollen, leading all the way down to the infected cuts on his arm where _Blood Traitor_ is etched.

Before she knows it, she's in his arms and crying into his shoulder and clutching his dirty shirt and breathing him in. And he's got his arms around her back, pulling her flush against him until neither of them can breathe, but neither of them care as long as they're in each other's arms for the first time in what feels like forever.

Hermione pulls out of the hug first and grips his face between her palms, looking at him like she's never seen anything so wonderful before. He pushes forward and their lips meet hard, bruising and swelling. She wraps her arms around his head and grabs his hair in fistfuls as he holds her chin and moves his thumb over her cheek.

When she feels like she can't go any longer without breathing, Draco pulls away but pushes her forehead to his. She breathes deeply. He smells like sweat and mildew, but most importantly, he still smells like Draco and she can't get enough.

"Have you eaten?" she pants.

"Have you?"

"Here." She picks up the plate of food and turns herself around so she's leaning with her back against his chest, her ear against his heartbeat.

"Thanks," he whispers, picking up a roll.

"Take some water," she tells him, moving the over the jug. "I already had a drink earlier."

He picks it up and drinks deeply. "When did you get a drink?" he gasps when he takes a break.

"In the kitchen. Collin gave me one. Draco!" she exclaims like she's just remembered. "Collin Creevey's here! He's been here for months. He told me there were others too. A Hogwarts student, two Americans, a German, some Half-Bloods. He says they're keeping them in another dungeon, or, what sounds like another dungeon. We can't leave them. It's made me rethink my whole plan, but now that we've got this," she holds up the wand, "I think I can figure it out easy enough. I just need you to tell me about the layout of the manor. Where is the other dungeon? Where is apparition point? Do you know if anyone patrols at night?"

"Hermione," he says and she can hear the regret in his voice. "I don't think we can take them all."

She frowns and leans away from him so she can look at his face. "Yes we can," she tells him carefully. "And we will."

"That's a lot of people to sneak out."

"I don't care!" she almost yells. "I'm getting them out when we leave. _All_ of them."

Air whooshes out between his lips. "The other dungeon is under the basement where Potter, Weasley, and that lot were held."

At the mention of Harry and Ron she tenses up and a fresh round of tears well in her eyes as she's reminded how they left her. _They had no choice,_ she tells herself. She takes a hold of Draco's shirt and lays her head back against his chest. He's incredibly warm compared to the cold air. Her stomach rolls in hunger and she picks up a piece of meat from the plate.

"Where is apparition point?" she asks him quietly. "Collin said it was beyond the hedges."

"He's right. As soon as you make it through those bushes you can disapparate."

"Okay." She thinks for a minute. "Tell me about the manor at night."

He clears his throat and takes another drink of water. "After dinner, the House Elves, and sometimes Death Eaters, put the prisoners back into the dungeons. When the sun goes down, the House Elves come out and do things the prisoners weren't forced to do that day like sweeping the floor, dusting the shelves, things like that. They are what watches for people wandering around the house. Mostly they're unpredictable, but if you're really careful, I think you can sneak around them.

"The real problem is finding a way out of the house. All the doors and windows are locked with magic and you need a special key to get in or out. Most of the Death Eaters have a key that lets them apparate in and out of the manor, but I'm guessing it's near impossible to get one of those."

"Okay," she says, closing her eyes and enjoying the feeling of his arms around her again. "I'm going to talk to Collin tomorrow if I see him and I'll try to get a key or think of a better way. If that works we'll leave two nights from now."

Draco breathes deeply and leans his head against the wall. He closes his eyes and squeezes her closer as he feels her starting to drift off to sleep.

* * *

Hermione wakes with a start. She's still in Draco's arms and the wand is clutched firmly in her hand, still glowing. The noise of the dungeon door rattling open is what wakes her. She scrambles out of Draco's arms as he wakes too. Grabbing the empty jug and plate, she scurries back to her side of the cell and refastens the cuff around her wrist. Then she looks for a place to put the wand. There's nowhere to put it and someone is coming down the steps.

 _"Nox,"_ she whispers and shoves it under her shirt just as a new light enters the dungeon, carried in a lantern by Tinky and Moule.

Moule hands Tinky the light and he shuffles on his large feet to Hermione with a set of ankle cuffs in his hands. Hermione sighs when she sees them, grimacing as he clasps them around her bruised ankles.

"Are these really necessary," she asks the Elf. "I can't go anywhere anyway. There are Death Eaters all over. Where am I going to run?"

Moule glares at her like she's greatly offended him. "Mistress says prisoners must wear them. Mistress says especially Harry Potter's Mudblood must be chained."

"Your mistress is an idiot, Moule," Hermione snaps back without really realizing what she's saying. She softens her tone slightly in hopes she can convince the Elf. "Your mistress is an evil woman who only wants to hurt people."

Moule looks at her with wide eyes. His grey skin goes pale and then slightly red with anger.

" _Granger,"_ Draco warns her. "Stop talking."

She ignores him, looking deeply at the Elf. "Has she told you why we're here? Has she told why she's keeping us locked down in this place?"

"You is a Mudblood!" Moule screeches, wringing his ears in fury. "Yous belong here!"

"Hermione, you're making a mistake. Stop talking to him." Draco is leaning forward, pulling on the cuff around his wrist. His eyes are full of panic.

"HE'S NOT A MUDBLOOD!" she yells, throwing her finger at Draco across the room. "HE'S HER OWN NEPHEW! She's keeping her own family down here!"

Tinky moans, clutching the tips of her ears and folding them in half to block out the shouting. Moule looks at her with giant eyes, his tiny fists are clenched at his side. "He is a Blood Traitor," he tells Hermione sternly. "Mistress say he is good as Mudblood."

Hermione snaps her mouth closed, shaking her head slowly. She pinches her lips between her teeth, fighting back a wave of tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She doesn't know what to do. She's as angry as a hornet and completely powerless to do anything about it.

After a minute she feels Moule undo the cuff around her wrist and jerks away from him as soon as her arm is free. Moule forces her to her feet, he's surprisingly strong despite his small and scrawny stature. Hermione shuffles to the door, looking back at Draco who is worriedly watching her go.

She frowns. "Why don't they want you?" she asks him.

He opens his mouth to say something, but Moule cuts him off, shrieking, "Mistress say no talking!"

She walks quickly to avoid being pushed by the Elf. The chain rattles nosily on the ground and chafes angrily at her ankles, making her wince, but she ignores it. The wand burns against her flesh and she regrets bringing it, afraid she'll use it at the wrong time or it will fall form her shirt in front of the Elves or Death Eaters. Her hand itches for it as Moule pushes on the back of her shirt. She wrings her fingers to avoid using it. She can't waist this when it is so close.

"Where are you taking me to slave away now?" Hermione spits at him.

He refuses to answer her.

The door at the top of the steps grinds open and Hermione is forced to squint at the new light. Her eyes water and skull pounds like a hammer, intensifying a headache she didn't know she had until now.

There is a harsh tug on her arm. "Finally," says a gruff voice. "What the hell took so long?" When her eyes finally adjust she can she it's the Death Eater from yesterday waiting for them in the hall.

Moule steps back and bows his head reverently to the Death Eater. "They is fighting with Moule," he says.

His grip tightens on Hermione's arm and he shoves her forward a little, making her stumble and her feet slap the ground. "Go tell Lestrange. Have her figure it out. We can't have this."

"Yes, sir," Moule squeaks, scurrying away.

Hermione pulls on her arm that has the Death Eather's fingers digging into it uncomfortably.

"Stop it!" he tells her sternly, taking her down the hall. She doesn't listen, tired of being treated this way. "You really want to fucking do this?" he asks, coming close to her face. "You've caused enough trouble for yourself already."

Again, the wand itches and her fingers tingle. Her heart picks up, pumping adrenalin to her muscles. "What are you going to do?" she bites back at him. His eyes narrow and flash. "Are you going to starve me? Beat me? Torture me? You've already done it!" She's practically yelling.

He stops suddenly and his hand connects sharply with her face. She hisses and tears prick her eyes as she brings a hand to her burning cheek. It stings, but Bellatrix slaps sharper.

"Wash the windows," he says, thrusting a rag into her hand. "Or you'll find out what starving is really like."

She gives him a glare and then turns to the door on her left made up of glass and white wooden panels dividing it into squares. When she starts working she hears him leave. She scowls with tears on her cheeks at the glass and then to the room behind it where a beautiful black piano is on a white rug. She thinks about how beautiful this place could seem if she didn't know the horrors that lurked just under its floorboards and behind closed doors.

Her eyes refocus on the glass and she starts. The pale form of a girl stares back at her. Her eyes are like dark holes, her cheeks shallow and sunken, there is a bruise on her left cheek, and her hair is wild and matted. She blinks and a tear leaks out and rolls down her cheek. She doesn't even recognize herself. How long has she been here? She thinks back to when she first arrived. It's all a blur filled with darkness and fuzzy pictures of faces and she doesn't know how long she's been here. It feels like whole years and only hours at the same time.

Something sparks inside her. She needs to get out. Needs to get out. It burns her from the inside out.

She stands up and opens the glass door, walking to the piano. It's so black and so shiny it looks white at times. The keys glint and the stings hum from the slight vibrations her footsteps make. She sits on the matching bench and taps middle C. The chord rings around the room. It's been forever since she's played. The lessons from her youth come to her mind like words on fading paper.

Standing up, she lifts up the bench to find books of music. Some are fancy, intelligent pieces, but most are children's books for learning.

She folds her lips in and takes out one of the children's books. Flipping to the first page, there is a stamp that says This book belongs to:, and in neat, diligent handwriting next to it is _Draco Lucius Malfoy_. She smiles, imagining Draco sitting on the bench. Little Draco, before everything, with his tiny fingers on the keys and his big silver eyes looking up at the same music in her hand on the stand. She wonders if his mother taught him or if they brought in a tutor. Or maybe, she thinks, he taught himself.

The image of Draco morphs into a young Hermione Granger at a brown church piano in the basement of her local church. She swallows hard, remembering herself working hard to pass each book. Though she was good, she was never great and it beat her up from the inside out to know that she couldn't be as good as she wanted at something. It took her parents pulling her from the lessons for her to realize it was doing more harm than good for her to spend every waking moment stressing over it.

She shakes her head and puts the lesson book back in the bench with the rest.

She goes back to the door, kneeling on the inside and wiping the rag across the panels.

* * *

Not long after Hermione leaves, Draco hears the door open and someone coming down the steps. His expression screws up when he can see the Death Eater coming down the stairs. It's the one called Lanius. Draco recognizes him from around the manor and when he took Hermione up yesterday. He's a muscular man, but not taller than Draco. He makes up for his height with being conceded and arrogant to anyone weaker than him. Draco knows Lanius's role for the Dark Lord is small. The man even cowers before Draco's aunt. But when he's pushing around people literally chained to the wall his ego goes sky-high.

It was in the clouds now as he walks to Draco and tapped the cuff around his wrist with his wand.

Draco pulls his arm away, massaging the ring of red under his hand. "What are you doing?" he asks him.

"Get up," he says.

Draco scrambles to his feet, staring quizzically at the Death Eater. "What are you doing?" he asks again, harsher this time.

"We're going on a little field trip," he says, squeezing Draco's arm and pulling him out of the cell.

Draco's knees ache and his toes tingle. He hasn't been able to stand in so long that it's weird to him to walk and almost painful.

"I want to talk to my aunt," Draco says, keeping his voice firm despite the throbbing in his temple.

"Well, she doesn't even want to look at you. So tough shit."

Draco tries to yank his arm out of Lanius's grip, but he's weak and his limbs feel like jelly. He's not even sure that's really his arm. It hurts, but the pain is distant, like it's across the room instead of right in front of him.

"Where are we going?" he yells, struggling, though he's no match in the state he's in.

Lanius doesn't answer him, continuing to pull him from the cell no matter how wildly Draco fights.

"This is _my_ house, damn it!" Draco yells. "Tell me where you're taking me! Let me talk to my aunt! Or my parents! Where are they?!"

Lanius stops abruptly and comes close to Draco's face. "This isn't your house any more." His words are like ice in the air. "She isn't your aunt. They aren't your parents. You've been disowned, little Blood Traitor. You're nothing but _dirt."_

Draco swallows thickly. His view of the Death Eater blurs as his eyes fill with tears. His lip trembles, refusing to let them fall. Before he knows what he's doing, his fist is swinging in the air and his knuckles crack against Lanius's skull.

The Death Eater lets go of him to nurse his bruised head. "Fuck!" he hisses, touching the forming welt.

Draco runs. His shoes pound the cement. He can see the light from the door like daylight at the end of a tunnel.

He almost makes it too.

A curse rips through his back, knocking him to the floor and burning through him. He cries out and the tears fall without him even knowing.

Lanius steps toward him, all big and storming with rage. His wand his held over his head, pointing at the crumpled boy beneath him.

"DO NOT _EVER-_ " Draco's muscles spasm as the pain pushes down harder on his chest. " _THINK_ ABOUT DOING THAT-" It burns faster still. Draco's eyes close and his stomach clenches in heaves as what little is left in him comes up. "EVER AGAIN!" Lanius watches him writhe and cry a bit more. Then, he lifts his wand, taking the curse with it. "Get up," he snarls.

Draco's body lies limp on the ground. It doesn't move. It doesn't speak. Lanius kicks it with his foot and Draco's head rolls to the side. His eyes are closed and his skin is paper thin

" _Fuck!"_ Lanius whispers. He points his wand. " _Wingadium Leviosa."_

* * *

Hermione walks quickly and willingly with the House Elf to the kitchen. It's the last thing she'll have to do today and she's been running through what she'll tell Colin all day.

As she'd hoped, Colin is already in the kitchen when she gets there. He's bringing plates over to the serving tray. When he sees Hermione he seems to let go of a breath he's been holding and almost smiles at her.

"Hello, Hermione. They want you to serve again tonight. Sorry," he adds, looking at her with empathy.

"It's all right, Colin." She leans in closer to him so that only they can hear. "I've still got the wand," she whispers. "Tell the people in the cell with you. We're doing this tomorrow night! It's happening!"

His face brightens dramatically, his eyes flashing like his infamous camera.

"Tomorrow?" he whispers. "Tomorrow!" For once, it seems the boy can say nothing else and Hermione has to shush him as the Elves look at them in suspicion.

"Keep it down! It won't be tomorrow if you blab about it. Now, nothing is different," she tells him, straightening herself like normal. "Everything is normal."

He nods, catching on and smoothing his face.

Hermione picks up the platter of food and clears her throat. "Tomorrow," she reminds herself. "Tomorrow this will be over."

...

 **A/N: AHHH! I TOTALLY FORGOT ABOUT UPDATING THIS! PLEASE FORGIVE ME! Technically it's still Sunday, but I should have done it earlier! I hope you enjoy, and I'm sorry again about my tardiness!**


	9. Chapter Eight

_"It's all right, Colin." She leans in closer to him so that only they can hear. "I've still got the wand," she whispers. "Tell the people in the cell with you. We're doing this tomorrow night! It's happening!"_

 _His face brightens dramatically, his eyes flashing like his infamous camera._

 _"Tomorrow?" he whispers. "Tomorrow!" For once, it seems the boy can say nothing else and Hermione has to shush him as the Elves look at them in suspicion._

 _"Keep it down! It won't be tomorrow if you blab about it. Now, nothing is different," she tells him, straightening herself like normal. "Everything is normal."_

 _He nods, catching on and smoothing his face._

 _Hermione picks up the platter of food and clears her throat. "Tomorrow," she reminds herself. "Tomorrow this will be over."_

* * *

Chapter Eight

Everything goes the same as it had yesterday until Hermione goes to clear the plates from dessert. Yesterday, the table had been empty by the time she came back from the kitchen, but this time, Bellatrix, Greyback, and two other Snatchers are still at the table.

They sit there silently, watching her over their noses as she picks up the plates. Her breathing picks up and the hairs on the back of her neck stand. Something is wrong. She can feel it in their stares.

"Something has gone missing," Bellatrix suddenly says and Hermione almost drops the plates she's carrying.

She waits for her to say more, but she doesn't.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Hermione says, keeping her voice even and cool despite the trembling of her hands and the sweat forming on her brow.

"Yes," Bellatrix says. There is the sound of wood scraping as a chair is being pushed back. She can feel Bellatrix coming closer to her. She can hear the clicking of her heels on the floor. "So am I."

She swallows hard. The plates in her hand clatter as she shakes and they feel slippery in her fingers.

"It was something of Greyback's," Bellatrix continues. Hermione squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. "It went missing around dinner last night. You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?"

She takes a deep breath. The wand under her shirt burns. "No." Her voice is like sandpaper.

"Where is it?" Bellatrix hisses in her ear.

"I don't know." Her eyes grow moist.

" _Where is IT!"_

"I don't know!" she sobs out and it's a lot louder than she meant.

"Take off your shoes. Turn out your pockets."

Hermione sets the plates on the edge of the table, bends over, and unties the laces of her shoes. She takes them off her feet and turns them upside down so Bellatrix can see there is nothing in them. Then she stands up, pushes her hands into her pockets, and pulls them out with the fabric in her fists.

"Now your socks," Bellatrix says. Hermione looks at her, frowning. "Do it! NOW!"

She pulls the stockings from her feet and shiver as her toes touch the cold floor.

"Now your trousers."

She looks up in shock. "What?"

"Take off your fucking jeans." Bellatrix pronounces each word carefully for her.

Her face heats up and her fists clench. "No."

Bellatrix's eyes flash. "How many times do I have to tell you? I know you took Greyback's wand. It wasn't in your cell which means it's somewhere on you. Now take off your fucking trousers!"

She shakes her head and puts her chin up. She won't. She refuses to humiliate herself.

Bellatrix seems to be shaking with rage. She pulls out her wand and Hermione braces herself for a wave of pain. Instead, though, she feels something else. It feels light, and _good._ Like this is a dream. Her eyes become unfocused and she finds herself too lazy to focus them back. Her hand starts to move toward the button and zip of her jeans on its own. The blood drains from her face as she realizes what's happening. But she can't stop her hand. It's moving of its own accord, unbuttoning and unzipping her jeans.

She starts to cry in humiliation. Her hand won't stop, she can't even open her mouth to protest. She pulls them off her legs and Bellatrix takes the jeans away, searching them before lifting the _Imperio_. She can move again, but is powerless to do more than stand shivering in her underpants. She has half the mind to whip out the wand right then and curse Bellatrix right in the face, but, as she thinks of this, her eyes move to the Snatchers, who are watching, and see that their wands are right under their fingers on the table.

Bellatrix throws the trousers to the side, disgusted with them. "Only one last place it could be," she seems to sing.

Hermione wraps her arms tightly around her torso, but Bellatrix lifts her wand once again and her arms drop obediently to her side against her will. Her fingers are forced to pick up the hem of her shirt and it's roughly tugged off her.

She's sobbing now. Standing there in only her undergarments and shivering from the cold and embarrassment, she knows they can all see the wand; its handle tucked under the side of her bra.

Greyback chuckles audibly and stands. He walks toward her, grinning devilishly, baring his pointed, yellowing teeth. Hermione thinks the spell has been lifted from her, but she doesn't dare move as he comes right in front of her.

She winces at the feel of his claw-like fingernails on her exposed side as he grips his wand and pulls it from her.

Bellatrix tuts as Greyback examines his wand. "Naughty, naughty Mudblood," she says, coming a bit closer like Greyback had. "How foolish of you. Didn't you think we'd notice? What was your plan? Were you going to take the Blood-Traitor and run away? Or maybe you were just going to save yourself? That's what I would do. Especially after I found out he'd already left without me."

Hermione frowns at Bellatrix through her tears who lets her words sink in for a moment. When Hermione's face flashes with some understanding Bellatrix continues. "That's right. He's gone. I bet you thought he loved you. I guess even Blood-Traitors realize Mudbloods are no good eventually."

A sob escapes from her lips. He didn't. He didn't leave her. Bellatrix is lying. She's lying. He'll come back for her. He has a plan. He'll come save her. He will.

Bellatrix takes a deep breath like she's bored and turns to Greyback. "Go ahead," she tells him. "She stole your wand. Do what you want."

Greyback raises his wand, practically salivating at the thought of torturing her. He points it at Hermione and she winces, bracing herself for the pain she's come to know too well. He waits a moment, which is torture in itself. Then he strikes and the pain rips through her again and again and again until she can no longer stand. But he doesn't stop. He tortures her until the darkness she prays for forces her eyelids shut and she can no longer feel the pain.

* * *

It's dark, but somehow she can tell she's in a different cell. The ground it a bit different and when the chain rattles against the wall the echoes it makes come back quicker.

She shakes like a leaf. Her clothes haven't been returned to her so she sits half naked on the freezing floor. Not to mention that all her muscles ache horribly from contorting and trying to avoid to curses and her head throbs.

She raises and hand to her head in an attempt to stop the throbbing. Her skin is like fire beneath her fingers despite how cold she feels. She lowers her hand, wrapping her arms back around her torso.

Briefly, she begins to consider why they would put her in a different cell when she remembers what Bellatrix told her, _"That's right. He's gone. I bet you thought he loved you. I guess even Blood-Traitors realize Mudbloods are no good eventually."_

"Draco?" she calls out softly.

She waits a minute for her voice to quit ringing in her ears. He doesn't answer. Not even a shuffle to indicate he's there.

Moisture gathers in her eyes so she shuts them because she doesn't need them open anyway.

"Draco?" she calls a bit louder.

Still no answer. Tears force themselves out from her eyelashes.

"Draco!" her voice echoes around the whole dungeon, but no one is there to answer her. "Draco!" She pulls desperately on the chain until her wrist is sure to be bleeding. "Please don't leave me! Please, Draco!" Her voice is faltering until she's back down to a whisper. "Please. Please. Please."

Suddenly her throat tightens and her mouth fills with saliva. She gropes for the bucket the Elves gave her to use as a toilet. Just as her fingers find it she retches, acid forcing its way out over her.

When it's become nothing more than dry heaves and then none at all, she sits with her head against the wall and the bucket between her legs. She's crying and swabbing her mouth with her tongue, trying to get then rancid taste out.

She shakes her head. She won't believe he's gone. Bellatrix is a scheming, manipulative, liar. Of course he hasn't left her. He wouldn't do that. He needs her as much as she needs him. He didn't leave. They moved him. He's just in the other dungeon, or locked in a different room. Anything. He wouldn't leave.

"I know you're there," she tells the air. "I know you wouldn't leave. You're too good."

* * *

Hermione can't sleep for a number of reasons. She's cold. Her whole body shivers and she no longer even has a shirt to wrap her arms in. She's humiliated. In only her underclothes, she grows red with embarrassment whenever she recalls what happened earlier. And she prays that no one will come down and see her like this. She's hungry. It feels like an eternity since she's eaten, and it's all either passed through her or been thrown up. She's horribly sick. Her whole body aches and she's incredibly exhausted.

But what keeps her awake the most is how angry she feels. She's practically shaking with anger. Damn Draco! Why would he leave her? If he were still here he would have found someway to let her know by now. But he hasn't. Because he's not.

She grinds her fist into the ground because she doesn't know what else to do.

Tears roll. She's angry, but she misses him. And she's scared. She doesn't know what will happen to her. Why don't they just kill her already? She doesn't want to die alone. She wants Harry and Ron. She wants her mother and father.

A new wave of anger washes over her. She's tired of being here, chained to the wall like an animal and treated like dirt. If Draco could get himself out then so can she. Her first plan may have failed, but she vows to get herself out. And soon. And if that fails she'll try again. And again. She won't stop trying until she's dead or out of this hell-hole. Or both.

* * *

Harry rolls over in his cot to stare at the golden cup sitting on the table. It radiates something bad and almost makes his head hurt if he looks at it too long. It is a blur how he and Ron had stolen the cup and gotten out of Gringotts. He'd been so full of adrenalin and quick decisions it was hard to keep track. If they'd had Hermione it might have gone a bit smoother.

He groans and looks away from the cup. Thinking about Hermione hurts a lot more. Something in his stomach squirms every time he thinks about how they left her or what could be happening to her now.

Ron had been furious when they first disapparated away. He'd demanded that they go back, right then, to save her. They couldn't, of course. Eventually he calmed down with only a few outbursts here and there. But it depressed them both.

What they need is a plan. Harry racks his brain, but no matter what he comes up with isn't good enough. They don't know where she even is. For all he knows, she's been moved from the Malfoy Manor completely. And who is with her? Malfoy had let them out, stopped Bellatrix Lestrange from torturing her, even threw Harry his wand.

Harry toyed with it now, feeling more guilty.

But Malfoy hadn't made it out. Did that mean he was with Hermione? Harry shakes his head. Draco had betrayed Voldemort. Harry knows what happens to disloyal servants. Malfoy is dead.

He cringes at the thought. He never liked Malfoy, but he doesn't want him dead. They'd gone to school together for six years. Sure, they'd fought like cats and dogs, but they were just kids.

Ron's voice disturbs his thoughts. "Harry!" he calls from outside the tent. They're on an island, secluded and surrounded by water.

Normally Harry would ignore him, pretending he hadn't heard. Neither of them felt much like talking the last couple of weeks. But there is something in Ron's voice this time that makes Harry sit up.

"Harry!" he calls again. He sounds urgent.

"What is it?" Harry yells as he walks toward the front of the tent. It's not the one they used to have. That one is still at the Malfoy Manor. This one is smaller, borrowed from Bill Weasley.

"You'd better come out here!" Ron says.

Harry ducks out the flap of the tent to see Ron standing a few feet away and looking at something.

"Look," Ron says, pointing to a dark brown owl sitting on a bolder in front of him.

What's peculiar isn't the owl. It's what's in its beak: a letter. Or more, a rolled up piece of scrap paper.

"Whose owl is that?" Harry asks Ron.

"I don't know," Ron says. "Should we… the letter?"

Harry holds up his hand for Ron to stay as he walks carefully toward the owl. "How long has he been here?"

"I don't know. I was walking around the wards, re-enforcing the protection charm; I'm nowhere near as good as Herm-… Anyway. I came back around and it was just sitting there."

The owl's big yellow eyes watch Harry as he carefully approaches. It doesn't screech or ruffle or move in the slightest.

Harry carefully takes the roll of parchment from its beak. Nothing happens. It doesn't zap him or melt his skin. Nothing.

The owl takes off, starting Harry and Ron both.

Harry holds up the paper for Ron to see. It's still rolled up, looking harmless.

"Do we open it?" Ron asks, coming closer.

Harry shrugs. "I guess."

He unrolls it and smooths it out. It isn't a letter at all, not really. It's lines. Lines and boxes. Long ones, short ones, ones in pairs. Big squares, small rectangles, groups of them all together. Three of the boxes have numbers in them. Two boxes in a group of little rectangles on the left have the number 1 handwritten on them. The other labelled box is in a group of rectangles on the left. It has the number 7. The rest are blank.

"What is it?" Ron asks.

"I don't know," Harry says, looking at the paper, trying the find a pattern or a recollection in the symbols.

"Who's it from?"

Harry turns it over, but the other side is blank. It's not signed. He looks at Ron and raises his eyebrows.

"That doesn't make any sense!" Ron exclaims. He's getting frustrated again. "It's rubbish, Harry. Throw it away." He steps into the tent.

Harry looks it over again. It feels too important to throw away. Who would send them an owl with scribbles on parchment if it wasn't important?

It looks like a maze, Harry thinks, or the layout of a building. He runs his finger along the paper, in between the lines, connecting the three numbers together. 1, 1, 7. 117? 711? 171? 711? What do they mean? He tries to remember when or why the three numbers would be important to him or Ron. Nothing. He comes up with nothing.

Maybe Ron's right. Maybe it is rubbish. Maybe the owl got lost and delivered it to the wrong person. Or maybe it hadn't. Maybe the owl had delivered it to exactly the right people. They only have to figure out what it means.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello, Dears! I remembered to get this up on time this time! Yay! Please leave a review! If you have any questions don't hesitate to ask and I'll do my best to answer them!**


	10. Chapter Nine

_A new wave of anger washes over her. She's tired of being here, chained to the wall like an animal and treated like dirt. If Draco could get himself out then so can she. Her first plan may have failed, but she vows to get herself out. And soon. And if that fails she'll try again. And again. She won't stop trying until she's dead or out of this hell-hole. Or both._

* * *

Chapter Nine

She wakes because someone is saying her name.

"Granger."

She sits up, head thrumming and feeling more sick than she's ever felt.

It's all darkness around her, so black and thick it's tangible. She can't see where her name came from and she starts to think she only dreamt it.

"Granger."

There it is.

She squints. "Draco?" It's weird to hear her own voice echo back to her.

He materializes out of the darkness before her.

"There you are." He smiles at her and she forgets all the anger she felt toward him and smiles back. "I knew I'd find you here," he tells her.

She frowns. "You did?"

Something is wrong. He doesn't look right. He's different from the last time she'd seen him. His hair is combed nicely, his face is still thin, but fuller, and he's in his Slytherin uniform.

"Why are you wearing that?" she asks.

"Come on. I want to show you something," he says like he didn't hear her question. Like she isn't half naked and chained to the wall.

He turns and moves like he's walking, but he stays right in front of her the whole time.

"What are you doing?" She's getting upset. If he thinks he's being funny he's not.

"Remember when you told me about watching the stars?"

A strange sense of deja vu comes over her. This had happened before.

"Well I found you the perfect place," he says over his shoulder.

This _had_ happened to her before. She remembers. He had found her a spot in the Forbidden Forest; a clearing where you could see the sky without disruption. She remembers that it had been the most beautiful, most perfect spot for star gazing.

So why is this happening to her again?

Draco finally stops walking in place and turns back around, coming to sit beside her.

She watches him in awe. Does he realize what's happening? Does he know?

He smiles at her. "Look." He raises a finger to the ceiling.

Hermione looks up to what should be a wall of black, but instead sees billions of stars; shining, twinkling, swirling with light. It's just like she remembers it. So perfect.

She looks back over at Draco who is staring up like an innocent child, his eyes wide and shining, his face reflecting awe, for once forgetting about the dark grip on his shoulder.

She smiles at him when he turns to look back at her. She remembers glancing at the trees behind him, terrified they'd be caught and she would have had to try to reason something she couldn't explain. But now, there is just them. Her and him and pitch blackness. And she's not really sure if he's really there.

His hand ghosts over cheek, picking out something caught in her hair. He _feels_ real.

"Twig," he explains quickly.

She lifts her hand, remembering what she did next. "You too," she says, brushing an imaginary stick from his hair. There had never been one, but she had wanted to touch him.

His hand still hasn't left her cheek. He rubs his thumb over her cheekbone, shakily, she realizes. She can't remember him shaking when this happened before, but she supposes it was because she was just as nervous.

Suddenly, he dips his head, catching her off guard, and puts his lips against hers in an awkward, clumsy way.

Before she has time to react, he pulls back, taking his hands off her like she's fire. His eyes are wide and scared to death.

"I'm sorry!" he blurts, standing up quickly. "I'm so sorry! That wasn't supposed to happen. We're supposed to hate each other. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she tries to tell him, but he can't hear because the first time this happened she hadn't said anything. She'd sat there, watching him leave with her mouth slightly open and her heart thrumming painfully and a whirlwind of emotion in her head.

"Draco!" she yells, trying to stop him. The anger comes back because he's leaving her again.

The door slams open and the figure of Draco disappears into a bright light that pierces her eyes as a tall figure struts in.

Hermione cowers down, drawing her arms and legs to her chest in order to make herself smaller.

The light moves to the side and she can see the figure who brought it is Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione groans, dreading the things only Bellatrix can bring.

"Hello there," Bellatrix says almost sweetly, as if she's talking to a pup or kitten. She squats down so that she's face to face with Hermione, breathing sour breaths on her face.

Hermione turns her head to the side in order to avoid her crazed gaze. Bellatrix draws her mouth into a pout and soon Hermione feels her long nails running lightly over her goose pimpled skin.

"Are you cold?" Bellatrix tuts. "I have an idea." She stands up straight again, towering over the frail witch below her. "Let's play a game to warm you up."

Hermione shivers at the thought of what she would consider a 'game'.

"I'll ask you a question, and you answer truthfully or I'll break you fingers. It's one of my favourite games, I play it all the time. I'm sure it will help you forget about the cold."

Hermione dares a look at her. Bellatrix's face is have hidden in a shadow, but the bright white light, makes her face sharp and easy to see she isn't lying. Hermione tugs on her chained arm subconsciously; trying to hide her thin fingers.

"Let's start with an easy one," Bellatrix says, tapping her chin in thought. Hermione braces herself. "How did you steal Fenrir Greyback's wand?"

She swallows, trying to think of the answer Bellatrix wants to hear.

"He says it went missing after diner, but the dumbass could have not noticed until the next morning." She crouches down again and takes Hermione's pointer finger in between two of her own, running them up and down the slender digit. "So how did you do it?"

She's trying not to shake or cry, watching her finger being caressed by the hands that could snap it any moment.

"I-" She clears her throat because it feels swollen and it's hard to talk. "I took it off the table." Bellatrix is smiling at her in an unnerving fashion. "It was on the table and I took it when he wasn't looking."

"Good girl." She stands straight.

Hermione lets go of a shaking breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Isn't this fun?" Bellatrix asks. "I've bet you've forgotten all about the cold!"

She is still shaking, but the most of her seems to have gone numb.

"Next question." Bellatrix taps her wand to her lips like she really has to think of something to ask. "What's their next plan?"

"Who?"

"You bloody well know who!" she suddenly shrieks, making Hermione wince. "They obviously don't care enough to come get you first. So what were you and your filthy friends planning on doing next?"

"I don't know, I-"

"Wrong answer!"

In one swift movement, Bellatrix has Hermione's chained hand between her fingers, spreading her small fingers wide.

Hermione closes her eyes, waiting for the splitting pain.

"I'm tired of being lied to, Mudblood! You're the only one with brains in you little group, so I know you know! I've already had to pay for enough of your fuckups! I won't take any more!"

"Please!" Hermione begs. She's crying now. "You have to believe me! I don't know! We didn't have a plan!"

"You have such nice fingers," Bellatrix says, running her own finger over each one. "Which one would you like me to break?"

She's shaking her head and pulling on the cuff. "Please!"

"How about this one."

She feels something cold goes over her pinkie finger. Her eyes squeeze shut and her other hand fists tightly.

 _Crack._

She bites her lip to muffle her scream, and tastes both blood and bile. Her eyes burn so badly from tears that she can't open them properly.

"Now," Bellatrix says. "Tell me where they're going next and I won't have to break another."

It takes her a moment before she can even open her mouth without crying out or throwing up.

"I-"

"You might want to think about what you're going to say first."

Hermione's lip trembles and blood slides down her chin from where she broke skin. She can barely feel anything over the pulsing pain in her pinkie, but she can feel something cold slide over the finger next to it.

She gasps and lets out a sob.

"Well?" Bellatrix asks impatiently.

"Hogwarts!" Hermione blurts. "Their next plan was to go to Hogwarts!"

After a moment, the contraption slides off her ring finger and she lets out a sigh of relief.

"See?" Bellatrix asks. "That wasn't so hard!"

* * *

Colin Creevey had been furious with Hermione when neither she nor Draco came to rescue him and the rest of the prisoners on the night she said she would. He trusted her and then she let him down. It didn't take long though for him to hear rumours of what had happened and he immediately felt bad for feeling angry.

 _"The Mudblood stole Greyback's wand."_

 _"Which Mudblood?"_

 _"Potter's. And apparently the Blood Traitor got away and left her."_

 _"The Malfoy boy? He couldn't have! I had patrol around the manor all week! I would have seen!"_

 _"That's what Lestrange said."_

 _"What happened to the Mudblood then? Did Greyback find his wand?"_

 _"Yeah. I heard that Greyback tortured her so hard she died."_

 _"I thought I heard Strals say she had a seizure and passed out."_

 _"Whatever. All I know was that Greyback was pissed and the Mudblood got what she deserved."_

Colin can't stop thinking about that conversation he heard between two Death Eaters one evening when he was sweeping a hall. He does't want to believe what they said, but it's hard not to.

Now, he's cleaning up the kitchen like they usually have him doing and wondering how in the world Draco Malfoy managed to escape. Suddenly, he notices that the House Elves have gone strangely quiet.

He turns around to find someone very out of place in the kitchen.

She's dressed nicely, in a long black dress and heavy diamonds hang from her ears. But her face is very different from her formal attire. It's thin, hallow, and shadowy.

Colin fidgets nervously as she walks toward him, but she seems to be just as nervous; glancing hastily at the House Elves and wringing her hands.

"Mr. Creevey," Narcissa addresses him. Her voice sounds weak.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Collin says carefully. It's the first time since he's been here that anyone, besides the other prisoners, has called him something other than Mudblood. It makes him more unsure of how Narcissa stands. At times she seems as powerful and ruthless as her husband, and others she cowers around him like a wipped dog.

"May I speak with you in private?" She glances again at the House Elves.

"Yes," he says, though he has no choice.

She leads him out of the kitchens, down the hall, and into a corner at the foot of some stairs.

"You know of my son Draco?" she whispers.

He nods.

"Has he spoken with you recently? Do you know of his plans?" She's shaking lightly.

Colin shakes his head. "He never talked to me. Is he really gone?"

She presses her lips tightly together and says quietly, "I don't know."

"You don't know? You mean, you haven't seen him? He's your own son and you don't know where he is?" Narcissa tightens her brow and Colin remembers who and where he is right now. "I'm sorry, miss," he says, praying his frankness won't lead to some punishment, his eye is still stinging from the last time he let his mouth run ahead of his brain.

Narcissa ignores his apology. "No, I haven't seen him," she says stiffly. "My sister makes sure he sees no one important to him. 'The Blood Traitor doesn't deserve to see the people who used to call him family' she says." Narcissa takes a shaking breath. "I'm sorry to take your time." She nods at Colin. "I was only hoping someone would be able to tell me about my son."

Colin can tell she's on the brink of tears. "Try talking to Hermione Granger," he says quickly. "She told me that her and Draco were put in the same cell. Of course, I don't know if they still are. I don't even know if she's still alive. I heard that they tortured her until she died-." He cuts himself off before he can start to ramble.

"Thank you." She nods at him lightly and moves quickly away.

Colin waits until she's gone to head back to the kitchen. He's even more confused on what to think of the woman now. He hopes he hasn't inadvertently hurt Hermione by suggesting Narcissa talk with her.

He passes by a window and stops to look outside. It's bright, a sharp contrast to the dark corridors of the manor. There are flowers in bloom below the window. Gone is the season of death, taken over by new life.

He goes to place his hand on the window, not caring that he'll probably have to clean the smudges off later, but before his fingers can touch the glass there is a sharp buzzing noise and lighting travels from the window to the bones in his hand. He yelps and holds his fist to his chest. There is no escaping the manor.

* * *

 **A/N: In case it wasn't obvious enough, the part at the top with Draco was a hallucination. I did it to show how sick Hermione is getting and also for some background on their relationship.**

 **IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT!: This story will be going on hiatus. Right now, I estimate that I'll be back with the next chapters around the first of October, but that is not set in stone. -Update: I'm a liar.**

 **Thanks for reading. I hope everyone had a great first week back to Hogwarts! Reviews are lovely, please send more!**


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